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IRemmtscences 


bis 


Cornelia Speafee. 



Baltimore: 

Cusblnci S. Company, 
1901 , 


.♦..preface..., 

jr *r & 

HE Stories contained ir\ this volUir\e 



1 are little chapters, taKer\ fron\ n\y 
oiVr\ life, as I strolled through tl\e years. 
All of tl\e characters are living, arid 
rr\ost of tl\e incidents, related in each 
narrative, are true. 


c. s. 


Contents 


PAGE. 

Dedication, -------- 3 

Preface, -------- 4 

A True Experience, ------ 7 

COEO’D SASSITY OB DE ARMY, - - - - 22 

Sieas Jeffreys, - 29 

The Feower Famiey, ----- 37 

Hazee’s Happenings, ------ 43 

A Life for a Life, - 59 

Anti-Lying, 79 

Above the Beue, 84 

A Toast to Woman, 93 

A Christmas Story, ------ 99 

The Strike at Ceear Water, - - - - 105 



H XTrue I Experience 


tin Gbe Gown of lpullmart In 1895* 

About the year 1874, Mr. George M. Pullman bought 
3,500 acres of land, which at that time was a marshy 
waste, fifteen miles from the City of Chicago. A great 
many people think the town one of Mr. Pullman’s 
personal effects, but this is not the case. The same com- 
pany who own and control the car works also control the 
Town of Pullman, although they are under two distinct 
and separate managements, yet closely allied and depend- 
ent one on the other. 

This dainty, beautiful little town is situated on Take 
Calumet, and is bounded with bright beds of flowers, 
shaded boulevards and charming picturesque parks. The 
houses are tasteful, substantial and comfortable, of differ- 
ent sizes, suggesting the story of “The Three Bears big 
houses for the big men, middle sized houses for the middle 
men and tiny little houses for the tiny little men. There is 
a handsome stone church and school-house, a market- 
house — imposing of its kind — and all the merchandizing of 
the town is concentrated under the glass roof of an arcade 
building. The town is also furnished with a well equipped 
engine house and livery stable. The horses, though not 
beautiful and fleet, with long and aristocratic lineage, yet are 
well fed and safe. The whole landscape, as it spreads over 
the prairie, is colored here and there with the soft stretch 
of velvety lawn, green to the very edge of a clear and 
sparkling artificial lake, in the middle of which is a 
fountain, generously distributing its spray, glistening and 
frolicking in the sunlight. 


7 


Every house and flat, even to the cheapest in rent, are 
all furnished with the modern appliances of water and gas, 
both of which are supplied by the town and are most 
expensive luxuries to the rich and poor alike, also the just 
and the unjust. The water, though thoroughly wet, is 
muddy, with sticking qualities, and the gas is partially 
illuminating. The houses are all of red brick, and are 
kept in the same condition of repair, in order, as far as 
possible, to keep the town uniform in appearance. It can 
be truly said of Pullman, that every few years the town 
is painted red. 

The library of the town is very complete, containing 
over 8,000 volumes. The reading and committee rooms 
are very beautiful and in good taste. A charming woman, 
Mrs. S — , is librarian. She can talk more beautifully, and 
can say more worth hearing things in a shorter space of 
time than any other human being I ever heard of, and this 
is saying much. If you go to her in smiles, with good 
news, she rejoices with you, and her musical laugh rings 
out, making all who hear her join in very sympathy. If 
you are in trouble she weeps with you, and would incon- 
venience herself to any extent to help you. If you want 
information, she is ready for you; if it is not at her 
tongue’s end, she knows just where to find it. She has the 
rare faculty of seeing the best of everybody ; she draws 
from you your very best thoughts and ideas. After leaving 
her, you always feel that you had not valued yourself at 
your proper worth. “To see her, was to love her. To love 
her, was a liberal education.” 

There is a savings bank, paying a liberal rate of 
interest to encourage depositors, and a theater, which is 
an artistic gem, seating quite 800 people. The only hotel 
in the town is named for Mr. Pullman’s favorite daughter 
“Florence.” The hotel, though small, is beautiful and 


8 


graceful in architecture, and is well kept and delightful in 
every respect. The most oft -repeated detail in Pullman is 
a life sized photograph of Mr. Pullman, who is represented 
as standing with his glasses poised lightly and carelessly 
between his fingers. One finds these pictures in the most 
conspicuous places of the library, bank, hotel, school- 
house, offices and even homes of some of his ardent 
admirers. 

The flats are built in blocks, there being as many as 
fifty or more rooms to a block. These rooms are divided 
into apartments of different sizes — there being some large 
flats, some small ones. A janitor is furnished to each 
block, employed by the company, to keep sanitary arrange- 
ments in order and to look after the halls and stairways. 

The streets and alleys surrounding the flats are as 
carefully kept clean and sweet as are the boulevards, and 
in this way epidemics are prevented. The streets are all 
Macadamized and the entire town kept on the park system. 
They are named for prominent inventors : Morse, Steph- 
enson, Watt avenue, Fulton street, Pullman avenue and 
Florence boulevard, for his daughter. 

There are playgrounds, provided for football, baseball 
and cricket; also a beautiful tennis court. Then there is 
a race course on a small scale, and boat-house, with grand- 
stand built at water’s edge, and at intervals, very exciting 
boat-racing is indulged in. 

This town, with its houses of the same order, the trees 
of the same shape, size and kind, the flower beds so perfectly 
even and alike, suggests to one’s mind a little toy town. 

The park is small, but beautiful and luxuriant; the 
flowers exquisite, the white gravel walks shining and 
dainty as they divide the fantastic beds of flowers. In the 
middle of the park is a bandstand, where once a week, 
during the warm months, a band composed of men 


9 


employed in the works play very fine music. The Pull- 
man Band has more than a local reputation in the west, 
the leader being a very cultured musician. 

The heart of this Town of Pullman is the magnificent 
plant of The Pullman Palace Car Company. The works are 
complete in every detail, the machinery modern and perfect- 
all controlled by the powerful Corlis engine. There are 
5,000 souls employed in the works alone. Here is an entire 
town of 12,000 inhabitants, all with the same business 
interest — The Pullman Company. It is like a large family, 
but a very quarrelsome one sometimes. 

This little narrative is not the life-work of Mr. Pullman 
nor a statement of figures and minutia. I am simply going 
to tell of some of the types of people with whom I came in 
contact when I lived in Pullman. 

Being interested in the poorer class of the people, with 
their small means and many children, the thought 
presented itself of the blessing to parent and child would 
be a kindergarten. Before going to Mr. Pullman for his 
permission, which was necessary (he watched over the 
town so jealously) , we wanted to be sure the plan was 
feasible and within our means. We called upon the presi- 
dents of the different kindergarten associations, whose 
motto is Love , and yet are ready to tear one another up by 
the roots. It is so sad, that noble, beautiful child ideas 
should have to burn with jealousy, when they are all for 
the same splendid object of child culture and mother cul- 
ture, through nature and the love of God, and the women 
at the head of the associations all being cultured, refined, 
strong women, who have given the best of their lives to 
the work. Jealousy may be found to be a germ some day, 
and the scientists will find a means to destroy it, and then 
what a blessing to mankind, and how our souls can grow. 

After getting together ideas and carefully preparing 


10 


my proposition, for I knew the plan, to succeed, must be 
attractive at first sight. My scheme perfected, I wrote to 
Mr. Pullman, presenting the plans of a Pullman Kinder- 
garten in all its attractiveness and glowing colors. 
Imagine my surprise, when by the same mail I received a 
letter from Mr. Pullman, advising me not to go too far 
in a matter of so much importance as a Pullman Kinder- 
garten, without first consulting him. I comprehended the 
situation at once. The ladies of the Kindergarten Asso- 
ciations, whom I had consulted, had put their fingers in 
my pie. I then made ready to call upon Mr. Pullman. 
Donning my most becoming gown, and with a smile on 
my face and a rose in my hand, I went to his office and 
sent in my card. 

I waited for my summons with a firm and steady 
exterior, but with an interior all faint and trembling. 
Mr. Pullman was always charming and gracious to women, 
and after a first experience, one was always glad to talk 
with him. He informed me these ladies had told him that 
I had presented a lamentable state of affairs in Pullman, 
that the town was in a pitiable condition for want of a 
kindergarten or two. Kach advising their own respective 
methods as the best to secure. I explained the matter 
finally to his satisfaction, but it took a deal of eloquence 
to counteract their meddling. They were nearly my 
undoing. 

After talking over the situation, we concluded the 
children must pay a penny a week for the privileges of the 
kindergarten. A penny for one, or if there were more than 
one child in a family, under six years of age, they would 
all be taken for a penny, and we often had three children 
of the same family under six, who had left little sisters and 
brothers at home. It can easily be understood that the 
kindergarten was not entirely self-supporting, at this rate. 


11 


However poor the kindergarten was, it was rich in good, 
moral influence — and so often is this good, moral influence 
poorer among the rich, and richer among the poor. We 
wanted to impress upon the young minds that they could 
not have something for nothing, so they could feel a sort 
of independence, and were not objects of charity. 

Mr. Pullman agreed, if I would secure what money I 
could in monthly payments from the more well-to-do of 
the town, he would make up the balance, which to me 
seemed a very becoming and dainty agreement, with one 
proviso, said Mr. Pullman. “ I do not want you to mention 
that lam assisting this enterprise . You must understand 
madam, if the people should know that I was helping your 
enterprise, I would soon be overwhelmed with applications 
for help. And as far as I am able, I want to make every- 
thing in Pullman self-supporting. I am, my dear madam, 
helping this enterprise because I love children. I think to 
do the best good to every community we must begin with 
them as children, as we cannot teach an old dog new tricks. 
And madam (he never forgot to be gallant), I am also 
helping because you ask me.” Well, I nearly had appo- 
plexy and exploded blood vessels, trying to keep that 
secret for two years. 

I was president of the Kindergarten Asss'ociation, and 
had to fi?id funds. I did have such a time accounting to 
the committee in charge of finances as to where I got so 
much money, and never to fall short of our expenses, and 
never to have any left to bank, but always to have on 
hand just the amount wanted. My imagination developed 
to old age in those days. I told them I could make money, 
when I wanted it very much, that I knew where it grew. 
I finally felt myself on the very verge of brain fever, 
trying to think up places to get money, and still feel a little 
like I did not tell untruths. Then came the last straw. I 


12 


was commended for my generosity in giving secretly of my 
personal means. I felt as though I had actually stolen 
the money, and ought to go to the police station and give 
myself up at once. 

I hurried to Mr. Pullman and begged him to release 
me from the promise of secrecy of his giving to the 
kindergarten, telling him what an injustice the people 
were doing him, feeling they were doing what they could 
to support the kindergarten, he ought to help also, as it 
was a benefit to the town in every way. Imagine my 
feelings, when Mr. Pullman, with a great inward breath, 
fairly exploded with laughter, holding his sides, leaning 
against the wall, with the tears rolling down his cheeks, 
looking in a very ecstacy of pain. I stood by his side 
quietly, feeling that I could not have been there during 
the entire conversation, as / had heard nothing funny. 
When he could control himself to speak, he said : “My 
dear little woman, and did you really think I meant you 
were not to tell of my generous gift to the kindergarten?” 
I felt as though I had just been born, and was only a couple 
of inches high. / did not know this is the way modest (?) 
men give of their wealth to charitable objects, advertising 
that he gives , but does not want it mentioned. My only 
wee comfort in the matter was Mr. Pullman’s intense 
gratification that he had found one woman who could 
keep a secret ; but it took him some minutes to regain 
his equanimity. 

I am conscious that he never saw me after that with- 
out an inward chuckle that I had been such an innocent 
in the matter. However, I lost no more time from that 
interview to advertise Mr. Pullman’s generosity. I 
remember meeting a man I knew, just outside of Mr. 
Pullman’s door, and I abruptly, apropos of nothing, told 
him , just to find how that awful secret would sound said out 


13 


loud. Mr. Pullman promised me, that in the future, when 
we talked business matters, he would always say what he 
meant, and after our understanding we got along swim- 
mingly. He was very generous to the kindergarten and 
gave much kind advice, but I learned that men must have 
“poets license” in what they say in business, as well as 
when they say pretty things. 

We took care of the kindergarten for many months 
by subscription, then it was taken into the public schools, 
and beautiful, well appointed rooms were added to the 
public school building. And with the heart interest of the 
principal of the Pullman School, who is the best principal 
in the City of Chicago, I cannot understand how little 
Pullman kept such a big man. 

The kindergarten, being a new idea to most of those 
living in Pullman, we had, at first, to drum up the children, 
and this took us into the homes of the poorest of the 
people. And it was indeed sad that they could not under- 
stand why we should want to benefit them, without some 
substantial recompense for ourselves. They would say, 
“there must be a catch some place.” However, the time 
came, when if we wanted anything of these people in the 
name of the Kindergarten , we were met with smiles and will- 
ing hearts and hands. 

I am now going to have you take a little walk with me, 
and we will visit a couple of homes. Our first stop is at 
the door of a small flat where lives a man with his wife and 
thirteen children. They are German Jews. The man’s 
wages at his best are seventy-five cents per day. His best 
is so poor, one would think that a poor mother with thir- 
teen children would be a very busy woman, but not so. 
Here sat this busy mother in front of the stove with her 
feet in the oven, and smoking a pipe, a perfect picture of 
rest and peace. The children, all crowded in the disor- 


14 


dered room, as it had commenced to rain, some of the dirty 
little things trying to see out of the grimy windows, some 
fighting, some crying, all of them unclean, miserable and 
uncomfortable. It seemed like pandemonium. 

All of the noise and excitement did not disturb this 
mother in the slightest, judging from her benign counte- 
nance and reposeful attitude. Most of the children had 
on only one garment, and were barefooted, and it was 
November. She told us in broken English with such a 
praiseworthy air “ I give de mos clothes to de weak ones.” 
She was shocked at the suggestion of a bath, saying : 
“ Oh, my, no ; I never dat dem in de winter time.” 

On the table covered with brown oil cloth lay a baby 
six weeks old, one little blue leg was uncovered, a greasy 
shawl wrapped about the little creature, with a greasier 
apron half covering its little drawn face. It was drinking 
coffee from its bottle. God in His goodness relieved the 
little sufferer in a few days from that time. 

After hearing our errand she condescended to allow 
her children under six years of age to come to the kinder- 
garten, provided we furnish the necessary clothing. The 
clothes were sent and the children did not report at the 
kindergarten. 

I went to see the reason of this continued absence, 
and found the mother in exactly the same position as on 
the previous occasion, as though she had not moved in 
those five days. Yes, she said, the clothes came, but the 
dresses were pleated skirts ; she could not let her little girls 
wear pleated skirts. To this idle, unclean woman it never 
occurred to her that she had any duty beyond that of mak- 
ing herself comfortable. I am afraid I lost my temper, and 
before finding it again I had told her some very emphatic 
and stinging truths ; but I am quite sure that I had all my 
excitement for nothing, for during my recital she did not 


15 


move, only to blow smoke and push down the tobacco in 
her pipe. This is one sort of the people living in Pullman, 
and I am happy to say this type is in the minority. 

Now I will take you further down the row to another 
block, where a family of five — mother, father and three 
children — live in two rooms. 

The man, an anarchistic looking fellow, with hair 
bristling up straight from its roots, wild, prominent eyes 
of steel blue and a presence most peculiar. It seemed as 
though his nerves were spiral springs and his veins, arte- 
ries and blood vessels made of fine wire, for every time he 
moved and breathed, this man, strung on wire, would 
quiver and shake all over. I never before saw such an 
excitable and nervous creature. He was a good represen- 
tation of perpetual motion. 

The mother had had smallpox very badly, from the 
effects produced. She was cross-eyed and had lost most of 
her teeth, although not over thirty years of age, and yet it 
was a real pleasure to look into her face, it was so passing 
sweet with the divine light of love . 

There were two little girls, seven and nine years of 
age, and a boy of four. His poor, little, wan face and 
bright, feverish eyes bore the promise of God for an early 
release from earthly suffering. The little fellow^ had been 
from birth, afflicted with water on the brain, and his head 
weighed more than his body. How that mother loved that 
sick child, and how he loved her. 

She held him in her arms most of the time, because 
he seemed more comfortable, and he was very heavy. His 
mind was very bright and active — he could speak German 
and English fluently — and had an exaggerated sense of the 
ridiculous. Making fun of his head was his chief amuse- 
ment. 

Once Freddie turned to his father, who was a carpen- 


16 


ter, and said, “ Papa you must make me a new, nice, 
wooden head, only for goodness sake make it littler than 
me.” 

The knowing expression in his eyes was uncanny in a 
young, sick child. He was jealous of his mother’s every 
look. As she talked to people, his little, thin hand would 
reach up to her cheek, and turning her face to his, he 
would whisper, “ talk to the people, but look at Freddie.” 
What cared he for cross eyes and marked skin, she was 
beautiful in his eyes ; he saw only the love and mother 
tenderness, and when she looked at his deformed little 
body her eyes would fairly melt with tender, loving pity 
that was almost divine. 

I must show you a charming picture it was my privi- 
lege to see one day. It was five o’clock, and the sun had 
donned his beautiful red coat of evening, and the world 
was wrapped in a crimson glory, as I knocked at the 
door where Freddie lived. Receiving no summons to enter, 
and hearing voices inside, I opened the door and stepped 
into the room and met this pathetic and dramatic picture 
of mother and child love. 

The room was sweet and clean, and the window was 
filled with blooming plants. Freddie lay on the table, 
made comfortable with pillows. It was wash day, and 
the room was full of steam and smoking suds. The child’s 
great shining eyes were overflowing with adoration as 
he looked into the face of his mother. She was sing- 
ing “Annie Rooney,” and his weak, tremulous baby-voice 
blended with her mother tones in the chorus. When they 
came to “ She’s my sweet heart, I’m her Joe,” she stretched 
her sud-covered arms towards him, and he lifted to her 
his little, thin, quivering hands. They remained in this 
position for a second, when with a little cry she ran to 
him with tears rolling down her face, hugged him closely 


17 


to her, and murmured brokenly, my poor, little, sick baby. 
And he in a voice of rapture cried, “mine, mine mamma.” 

Then came a day when this mother fell ill. She had 
strained herself in lifting Freddie. After one day of suffer- 
ing she died , with “my Freddie” on her lips. 

The father was an infidel and a very hard man ; he 
did not beat his family, but they stood in awe of him. 
The little, sick, helpless child was the only warmth that 
had ever crept into his cold heart, and he loved him as 
only those fierce natures can love. 

The mother had only been gone a couple of days 
when the delicate little Freddie flower began to wilt, with- 
out the sunshine and drink of the mother love. 

A message came that Freddie was dying. On arriv- 
ing at the house I found the child in violent convulsions. 
There were eight or ten women in the room, one to help, 
the others to see. 

The doctor was trying to get the little sufferer under 
the influence of chloroform, with no success. The father 
consented to baptism for the child, and a minister was sent 
for. Oh! the solemnity of that hour — the restless, fighting 
child ; the doctor administering chloroform ; the curious 
women standing about the room; the little awe-stricken 
girls crouched close together behind the stove and the 
wild-eyed, tempest -tossed father standing at the foot of the 
bed. As the minister made the sign of the cross on the brow 
of the child, and blessed him in the name of the Father, 
Son and Holy Ghost. The sun burst through the clouds, 
leaped through the window and rested on the face of the 
child, when instantly the child was still, and for several 
seconds we all stood awed and stunned with a feeling of the 
actual presence of the Deity. Then with a great sigh the 
little fellow cuddled into a comfortable position and slept a 
sound, refreshing sleep. 


18 


While waiting for the child to awaken, the doctor and 
I got into a discussion as to the ways and means of Prov- 
idence ; I contending that all sorrow and pain are sent to 
us for a good purpose — to develop and broaden us. He 
maintained that the most deserving seemed to have the 
most to endure ; that the careless, selfish, indifferent and 
even wicked ones, as a rule, sailed along on even Seas, 
with fair weather, whereas the conscientious, unselfish 
workers for good, had rough water and cloudy weather 
most of the time, with often stormy, buffeting winds that 
all but tore the poor victims to pieces, and that the very 
unjustness of such an unfair distribution of blessings to 
the wicked and the unjust, proved it was not the will of 
Providence, but just happened accidently. I was glad to 
have ready for him a little quotation to prop me in my 
position. Prof. Austin Phelps used this illustration of the 
disciplinary uses of the trials of this life : 

“A Crystal is sometimes formed in the embrace of a 
boulder of granite ; to clear it of its rough enclosure, and 
to bring its beautiful facets to the light, nature submerges 
it in deep waters, shatters it by tempest, and abraids it by 
contact with stones and mud, and the rubbish of the sea. 
Thus a redeemed soul is, by the plan of God, immersed in 
the cares, trials and usefulness of a world of sin, so that 
by sheer resistance of evil and abrasion with depravity, it 
may be polished to the transparent image of Him who 
made it.” 

An hour passed and the child still slept quietly and 
sweetly. That solemn hour of baptism will never be for- 
gotten by those curious women. They tell now of having 
seen the hand of God, in the form of sunlight, touching 
the face of the child and giving to him peace and rest, and 
sparing the precious life to the sorrowing father, because 
of the Holy Baptism. 


19 


We all went to our homes ; in a couple of hours I 
returned to inquire for Freddie, and found him dressed and 
sitting in his high chair eating his luncheon. I was 
reminded of the miracles performed by our Savior when he 
was upon earth ; imagine my feelings when I discovered 
of what food this sick child’s luncheon consisted — batter 
cakes and coffee. 

The father was much distressed that the doctor had 
ordered a dose of castor oil for the boy, and the child 
refused to take it ; so the father had put the dose in the 
boy’s coffee, and even then he could not persuade the dose 
into the child. When I saw the concoction, there was no 
doubt in my mind that the little fellow had more sense, ill, 
than had his father, who was strong and well. 

At six o’clock I called again. I must show you 
another picture ; the little invalid, so wasted and pale, sat 
in his high chair, with his poor head lying on a pillow 
which lay on the rest in front of the chair, his transparent 
hands on the pillow beside his head. His entire attitude 
betokening illness and weak helplessness. There was not 
enough room on the pillow for both little hands, and he 
was too miserable to move over ; so one poor, sick hand 
kept sliding off of the pillow. He would, slowly and 
weakly, put it up, when down it would slide ; the father, 
with eyes full of unshed tears, sat by the child, drew 
his chair closer to the boy, and held in his big, rough 
hands the little sick hand. 

The man’s old mother keeps house for him, but she 
cannot lift the boy, so this wild, reckless father bathes and 
makes the child comfortable for the day before he goes to 
work at seven o’clock. He said, “I bad man before I get 
Freddie, I good man now.” 

This little suffering, deformed child was sent into the 


20 


world with his pain to produce in this hard, cold man, by 
self sacrifice, sympathy and love, a refined and softened 
soul. 

There are, living in Pullman, three or four officials of 
the company with their families, a few clerks, two or three 
doctors, a lawyer or two, a couple of dentists and a photog- 
rapher, banker, town agent and minister. The one church 
in Pullman can be of any denomination who will agree to 
pay the very high rent. 

Of course the social circle of a place peopled like Pull- 
man is bound to be very circumscribed. There may be 
worse conditions to combat in other little towns, but I have 
no knowledge of such places. 

There are many indescribable peculiarities with 
regard to life in Pullman. To perfectly understand, one 
must experience ; but there is one true and interesting fact, 
that a very little of this model town will go a great way. 


21 


Golo’fc SassitK? ob be Brm£. 


“Has yo’ eber saw fine colo’d sassity, Miss Ellen? 
Yo’ neber has, chile, sho’s yo’ bon, ef yo’ neber has ben to 
a army post befo’. 

“It’s mo’ samer wid de blacks as de white folks is. 
Yo’ al’ays fin’ de bes’ in de army. Us serbants ob de army 
people looks do’n on de cibilian serbants jes’ like de white 
folks dos. When a cibilian serbant comes nigh me, I gib dem 
a look dat’ll do'n em ebery time, and mak’s em wish dey’s 
daid. Don’ shek yo’ head, Miss Ellen. Yo’ knows datsde 
truf I’m sayin’. Why, honey, de col’od ones knows de 
whites jes’ like de Good Book , an’ yo’s right, dat yo’ is so, 
de army's de place to fine de real ting. We’s goin’ to hab 
a gran’ ball dis ebning, Miss Ellen ; cum to it. De white 
ladies dos cum of’en.” 

It was 11 o’clock and the ball had opened. The room 
looked very festive, with a number of lighted lamps 
trimmed with large rosettes of colored tissue paper. The 
musicians threw their hearts and strength into their work, 
each keeping time with his head and feet. One could not 
look on the innocent joy which shone from the faces of 
these grown up children without a feeling of pleasure. 

Ellen May was the cook of Captain Brown. She 
wore a Nile green silk dress, trimmed with pink chiffon 
about the low corsage. She was as black as coal. Her 
face, neck and arms had been powdered ; for what reason 
could not be understood. The queer, uncanniness of the 
hue resulting from putting white powder on the black skin 
certainly could not be found in nature. It was a kind of 
a dark lead color of bright luster. About her neck was an 
elaborate chain of yellow glass beads, a bridal gift from 


22 


her husband. This gift was a very happy thought, for 
Ellen May never tired of saying, “ It’s jes’ like de white 
folks do’s.” 

Rosa Lenora EeDuke was the personal maid of the 
wife of the commanding officer. She was a light mulatto, 
dressed in one of the old gowns of her mistress — pink 
embossed satin, with a wide flounce of white lace about 
the neck. She wore a pair of gold shoes. As her foot 
was a No. 11 E last, some idea can be formed as to how 
her feet looked encased in bright and shining gold. The 
pleasure these glittering accessories were to Rosa Eenora 
cannot be described. If her eyes left them for one moment 
certainly her mind did not. Those gorgeous feet were ever 
present in every sense of the word. 

Virginia Ann Martha Washington was radient in lav- 
ender satin, with rows of pink satin ribbon, sewed on in 
strips, going round from top to bottom. As Virginia Ann 
Martha measured just five feet in height and weighed over 
three hundred pounds, there were grave suspicions that 
Virginia Ann Martha’s figure had not been considered 
when the model for that gown was selected. On her head 
was a wreath of pink roses ; pink rose wreaths were also 
about her neck and arms, simulating necklace and bracelets. 

Then came Venie, who gave me my invitation to the 
ball. She was gowned in white silk, with snowy swans- 
down about the low neck, while white wax beads coquet - 
tishly festooned her raven tresses. Venie stood six feet two 
in her stockings, while her “ steady ,” Jerry, measured 
just five feet with his heavy boots on. Venie’ s “ steady ” 
was very devoted and chivalrous as a rule, but, “ alack a 
day! ” there must be exceptions to most good rules. 

Venie had much manner, and was very careful to 
make herself conspicuous by her graciousness and polite 
attention to every one — shaking hands with everybody 


23 


and not only inquiring for the health of those present, but 
of the absent members of each family, bowing and smiling 
at good reports, and looking the picture of distress and 
sympathy at bad news. Venie would move about the 
room at intervals with great gusto, urging every one to 
“fill yo’ hearts with joyness, my frien’s, an’ don’ be shy. 
Yo’s at home at yo’ own ball, so jump right in an’ ’joy it 
while yo’ don’ got it wid yo’, fo’ to-morrow yo’ll be 
cooken’ and awashen’, an’ den yo’ll wish yo’d limbed up 
a little mo’.” 

All of the ladies present wore their dresses decollette, 
whether they were fat or lean, black or yellow. The 
women were much more at their ease than the men. These 
stalwart sons of Africa were at their ease in battle when 
fighting for their cause ; their hands in the proper place 
when it came to handling carbine and sabre, as was proven 
in our war with Spain, when the brave and courageous 
Tenth Cavalry made such a valiant fight ; but the presence 
of the gentle sex seemed to take away their nerve, and they 
became self-conscious and afraid. On this evening of the 
ball they stood about, hugging the wall with their hands 
in their pockets or being tied in little knots while talking 
to some of the belles. 

The men were as modest and retiring in their dress as 
in their manners. They were all in blouse uniform and 
shrank within it, appreciating the supremacy of the weaker 
sex. Only a few of the more accomplished could take part 
in the round dancing, and they could have carried buckets 
full of water on their heads without spilling a drop so 
evenly and smoothly did they move round and round 
without reversing until the onlookers were dizzy. 

Venie did the most peculiar bowing in the lanciers. 
Jerry would take her right hand with his right. This 
would bring her to the centre with face out. He would 


24 


then bow towards her, and she would bend backwards, 
with face to the centre. This would make her appear as 
though her head had been placed on her shoulders wrong 
side before. She reminded me of the so-called boneless 
women, who are always making their joints turn in the 
opposite direction from which they were intended. 

I was very uneasy about Venie. I was afraid she 
would dislocate some of her anatomy by her contortions. 
She kept her weather eye on the surrounding company, 
and if by chance a little thin woman would bend back 
farther than did Venie, the next bow of Venie would put 
to shame the little thin woman. During the entire pro- 
ceeding Venie would sweetly smile, even if the effort had 
brought her to the very verge of apoplexy. 

The men, while waiting for their turn to dance, would 
stand with the sole of one shoe resting crosswise over the 
instep of the other. The women were very coquettish and 
loquacious, always talking in the first person, singular 
number. 

We remained about an hour, then returned home and 
retired for the night, as we thought ; but, alas! little sleep 
were we to get on this night of the “ grand ball ob de fine 
colo’d sassity ob de army.” 

About 2 o’clock in the morning came the mournful 
voice of Venie. If there could be tears in a voice they 
were streaming down the sobbing tones of Venie when she 
called, “ Lieuten’nt, will yo’ please, sir, cum to me?” 
The entire household accepted the invitation, including 
two cats and a dog. 

There stood Venie, a total wreck, with blood stream- 
ing down her face and all over her dress. “Well,” she 
said, “ I ’spose yo’re all sprised to see me dis away. So 
is I sprised at it m’sef ; nobody mo’ so, an’ ef I knowed 
what was de matter wid dat nigger I’d tell yo’, which I 


25 


don’t. Yo’ see, it was dis away. Jerry cum to me, he 
did, an’ I was atalken’ to Miss Ellen May. An’ she cer- 
tn’ly did look gran’ ! An’ Jerry said to me, jes’ as p’lite 
as could be, ‘ Miss Venie, can I speak wid yo’ personal 
an’ private for a minit outside f ’ I bowed, pleasant like, 
an’ says I to him, yas, sir; wid much pleasure an’ joy, 
when Miss Ellen May speaks up, she did, an’ says, ‘ Oh, 
no, no, Miss Venie ; yo’ will ’spose yo’sef to de coldness 
ob de atmosphere an’ hurt yo’ beautiful singen’ in de choir 
nex’ Sunday. Go to de dressen’-room, honey.’ An’ very 
thoughtful like she thro’d her white five-dollar shawl about 
me, which I bloodied all up, an’ dis white silk dress an’ 
beautiful swansdown, which is queenly, ef I do say it, as I 
shouldn’t; an’ it’s all paid fo’, too. Ef I knowed what 
was de matter wid Jerry I sholy would tell yo’, ’fo’ de 
Lo’d. Ob co’s’ he don’ dance jes’ as graceful as me; yo’ 
can’t ’spect it ; I has only ben learnen’ him a few times. 
An’ maybe I did kind ob smile like at him when he don’ 
things wrong an’ awkward like. 

“Well, sir, when we got to de dressen’-room didn’t 
dat man retch up his han’ an’ take one ob dem lamps an’ 
cut me wid it on de head, an’ squashed some ob dese 
beads, too? An’ what ain’t squashed is all bloodied. 
When I seed it meant fight , I jes’ picked dat little black 
feller up in my han’s an’ car’i’d him to de ball-room an’ 
thro’ed him on de flo’ an’ fell on him. My frien’s seed de 
’citement an’ de blood on me, an’ dey took me off on him 
an’ bring me home. 

“ Eieuten’nt, I ain’t angry wid dat man ; I don’t wish 
him no harm. I’d give him my place ef he could cook, 
which he can’t ; but he won’t neber be my ‘ steady ’ no 
mo’. I said to m’sef, I did, as I was awalken’ up dat 
road dis night, Venie, honey, Jerry’s ben yo’ ‘ steady ’ jes’ 
one ebnen’ too long.” 


26 


This was the story. The injured, resigned, forgiving 
tone which accompanied the story was heart rending It 
was plain to be seen that something must be done for the 
injured head, for the wound was bleeding profusely. So 
the doctor was sent for, and we all adjourned from the hall 
to Verne’ s room. Here was a picture. 

Venie sat on the edge of the bed, her “bloodied” 
white dress and swansdown, with the squashed beads, 
made her look as though she had suddenly been called to 
mortal combat. Over her stood the doctor, cutting the 
wool from the wound. The wiry sound which followed 
each snap of the scissors was very unsettling to one’s 
nerves. On one side of Venie sat the pink embossed satin 
dress, with the gold shoes crossed in the middle of the 
floor. The owner of these ever-present gold shoes held 
Venie’s hand in her’s. On Venie’s other side sat the Nile 
green silk dress, with the yellow glass necklace glistening 
on the lead colored neck. She held a basin, as the wound 
was still bleeding — indeed quite alarmingly. Over them, 
holding the lamp, were the irresistible pink rose wreaths. 

Of course, there were numerous men present also ; but 
they as usual, when ladies were present, were in the back- 
ground, not presuming to take an active part in the pro- 
ceeding. 

From time to time Venie would moan, “ I don’ wish 
him no harm ; I ain’t angry wid him,” and at each repeti- 
tion of these noble sentiments her sympathetic auditors 
would exchange solemn glances and shake their heads. 
The tender hearted gold shoes could not bear all this dis- 
play of Christian forgiveness on the part of the sufferer, so 
she soon began to cry quietly. 

This expression was almost my undoing. With the 
tears rolling down her cheeks, making little railroad tracks 
through the powder, and her face “ schrooched up,” tied 

27 


in a hard knot of crying, and through it all looking on 
with interest to the sewing up of the wound, I think the 
expression might be called a ‘ ‘ facial physiological phe- 
nomenon .” 

At last all was finished, and as daylight peeped over 
the top of Bear Paw Mountain the poor injured, but forgiv- 
ing Venie was tenderly put to bed, and her sympathetic 
and faithful friends, who had stood by her to the bitter 
end, departed. Jerry was put in the guard house for two 
weeks, and at the end of the third week he was once more 
installed as Venie’s “ steady .” 

In explanation of the fact Venie said : “ Miss Ellen, 
it would cut yo’ to de heart to see dat man’s face when he 
looks at my beautiful, gran bang all cut away, an’ a scar 
instead dat he don’. De look ob dat po’ nigger den will 
go wid me to my grabe.” 

“Well,” said Miss Ellen, “ if Jerry really loves you, 
how can he be cruel to you? ” Her face brightened. 

“Now yo’s talken’, honey. Dey’s a personality ob 
argament on dat su’ject which, when I don’ tole ’bout it, 
yo’ won’t neber be in darkness no mo’. In de fust place 
we'r black an’ yo’ isn’t. Ef yo’ is mo’ different color on 
de outside , den yo’ is boun’ to be mo’ different on de inside ; 
dar it is, jes’ perfectly easy. Colo’d folks is mo’ different 
as der color is. Now, any way, chile, Eieuten’nt Elliott 
is a heaben-on-eart’ man like mos’ ob de white ones ; but 
de black ones isn’t. Some how de colo’d ones is mo’ 
jealonser. Den de black womans is mo’ smilen’ an’ 
maken’ eyes at dem dan de white ladies is. “I don’ d'ny 
dat I loves dat nigger man, an’ I don’ care who knows 
it. I’m colo’d, an’ I knows de colo’d ways. I don’ 
mind much jes’ haben’ Jerry knock me down once in 
while, but look here, chile, I won’t stan’ cutten’ on de 
head wid a lamp many mo’ times.” 


28 


Sil as Jeffreys 


Silas Jeffreys was the fifth son of a New England land 
owner. His brothers were all strong and athletic, whereas, 
he, from his cradle, had been frail and nervous. His 
mother, a cold, ambitious woman, was mortified and irrita- 
ted that with sturdy, manly sons, this one should be so 
sensitive as to seem effeminate, which was in her eyes an 
unpardonable sin. Mr. Jeffreys thought it a disgrace for 
a man to have nerves. 

Silas spent most of his time alone. His mere presence 
seemed to irritate his parents, and he could not enter into 
his brothers’ sports and rough games, while they would be 
on horseback, jumping fences, or playing cowboy and wild 
indian, Silas would be sitting in hiding at a respectable 
distance looking on. Mrs. Jeffreys often hunted for him 
to encourage his taking part in the games also, hoping that 
in time he would learn to enjoy them and toughen a little. 
So she would frequently call to him : “Silas, go play with 
your brothers”. Poor boy ! he could no more be a cow- 
boy or wild indian than he could turn himself into the 
fiery dragon with which the brave Christian had to battle. 

His brothers tortured him many times a day by their 
rough teasing and rude jokes, which was great fun for 
them but agony unspeakable to Silas’s highly-strung or- 
ganization. They did not mean to be cruel, but they 
could not know in their strength and callousness how he 
suffered. 

When Silas was about ten years of age, one night there 
was a fearful storm. It seemed as though the thunder and 
lightning were in warfare against one another. The 
lightning unsheathed her glistening sword, and cut 
and flashed in its fury. Then would the thunder fire 


29 


its awful cannon ; peal after peal followed one another 
with a crescendo acceleration, resounding back and forth 
from cliff to cliff down the valley. Again would the light- 
ning strike back with a clean, quick cut, and again with a 
deafening roar the thunder rolled as though everything 
must be crushed. 

Silas was alone in his little white bed almost paralyzed 
with terror. He lay with tense muscles watching for the 
thrust of lightning, then with quivering nerves buried his 
head in the pillow to try not to hear the answering peal of 
thunder. At last, fear of the storm out -weighing his dread 
of his mother’s anger, he sprang from his bed and staggered 
blindly to her room more dead than living. As he reached 
her bedside there came a crash of thunder more terrible 
than any he had heard, seeming to rend the heavens in 
twain, and Silas involuntarily shrieked “Mother, save me ! ” 

Mrs. Jeffreys opened her eyes in a dazed, wondering 
way, and without seeming to see the out-stretched arms 
and quivering form, said, “Silas, you are like a silly little 
girl, go to your room at once, and be brave like your broth- 
ers.” A couple of hours later he was found lying in the hall 
by his mother’s door in a dead faint. 

It was many days ere he recovered from the shock of 
the fright of that night. Miserable months followed one 
another, and Silas was seventeen. He was thin to emacia- 
tion, his walk was mincing and uncertain, his figure stooped, 
and with sallow skin and hollow eyes he was not a cheer- 
ful object to look upon. His life-long neglect and oppres- 
sion made of him a man whose manner seemed a constant 
apology for living, and indeed he owed the public an apol- 
ogy. His lungs were diseased and his health was very 
precarious. His doctor advised him to go West, where the 
altitude was high, and enter upon ranch life where he could 
live out of doors. 


30 


He started with rosy dreams of finding health by be- 
coming a man of the plains. His first interview with a 
ranch owner was rather discouraging to becoming a rough 
and tough cowboy at once, for, instead of asking Silas if 
he could ride a horse like fury, he said, “Can you cook, 
wash and iron, and make beds ?” Silas decided he must 
begin at the bottom of the ladder and begin his climb to 
picturesque strength in a modest way. 

So he entered upon ranch life as cook and maid of all 
work. He could not imagine why the cowboys should call 
him “Rosie.” 

The owner of the ranch had a daughter, Mildred, of 
sixteen years of age. She, with her mother, used to visit 
the ranch a few weeks at a time each summer. Mildred 
pitied the frail, weak Rosie, and tried to shield him from 
the rude jokes of his companions. 

One day in September all of the men were busy with 
the “rounding up” of the stock before the threatening 
storm, and Silas was called from his household duties to 
assist. He mounted timidly a gentle animal and started 
for the ravine with a feeling of exultation that he was tak- 
ing his first step towards being a rough and tough cowboy, 
when to Mildred’s surprise he turned and rode back to the 
house; she ran to meet him, calling, “Silas, what did you 
forget ?” and he answered : “It is beginning to rain and 
I want my over-shoes, rubber-coat and umbrella.” 

Poor fellow ! he had had to take care of himself all 
his life and it had become second nature. He was appalled 
when Mildred, in the greatest excitement, said : “Go, Silas, 
go in the rain, if it kills you. Don’t let the men know that 
you are afraid of the wet.” 

Weeks became months, and still Silas had no thought 
of returning home. He became a good cook and laundress, 
and even a fairly good seamstress. 


31 


For sometime the ranch had been losing cattle. It was 
thought they had strayed and become lost, but finally the 
thieves were seen to be “ Rustlers,” whose business it is to 
steal cattle and put their own brand on them. Stealing cat- 
tle was considered the worst crime that could be committed 
on the plains, and the penalty was death, which was admin- 
istered promptly to the offenders without the services of 
judge and jury. 

The men at the ranch prepared for resistance. When it 
came to arming Silas, his feelings were not spared as 
usual. The men cautioned him not to shoot with the wrong 
end of his revolver, and with a great flourish explained the 
cutting side of his knife, taunting him with cruel insinua- 
tions relative to his bravery and nerve. 

Night after night the sentinels reported all quiet, then 
a dark night came full of forbodings of evil. The winds 
whistled and howled like a pack of hungry wolves. When 
the word was passed : “ All ready to arms ; Fire!” 

Who was the tall, thin man, with light shining from great 
hollow eyes, whose weak, effeminate voice urged and en- 
couraged the men to fight for right and justice, nbt con- 
tent with driving the enemy from their grounds, but pursu- 
ing them until he brought them down, dead or as prisoners? 
Who was the hero of the bloody onslaught — but “Rosie?” 

He was carried and tenderly laid on his bed, bruised 
and bleeding. His comrades who had given him little else 
but taunts, ready now to give for him their life. He was 
their hero. They all took turns in nursing him for a few 
days, when they decided, if he was expected to live, he 
must be sent to a hospital. 

Silas was sent to a hospital in Cheyenne, about twenty 
miles from the ranch. He was a long and weary time re- 
covering his strength, because of his delicate constitution. 
He was tenderly nursed backed to life, and was happier than 


32 


he had ever been in his life. His faithful comrades of the 
ranch took the long ride to see him frequently, telling 
him stories and reading aloud to him in their halting, 
stumbling manner. Silas hugged to his heart the numerous 
proofs of their love and respect, for it was the first he had 
been able to inspire. 

During his convalescence he had much time for thought 
and reading. He studied the bible and became inspired 
with the desire to save souls. He entered upon a course of 
theological study with the hospital chaplain, and after six 
months of convalescence he started for the gold mines of 
Leadville as an evangelist. 

At Sweet Brier Gulch were about twenty-five claims 
and fifty or so rough gold diggers. The “ Last Chance ” 
saloon was the club, lecture room and public hall of the 
Gulch. 

One evening in May, about fifteen diggers were hav- 
ing a convivial time and discussing conditions and pros- 
pects, when one of the men told of a report he had heard of 
the coming to the Gulch of a “parson” to give every man 
of them “ religion.” This was too much, any other disease 
in the medical catagory was preferable. They all agreed to 
give to that “ parson” a reception “ he won’t soon be well 
enough to forget” Finally, Tim Warner, or “Fighting 
Tim” as he was called, because of his propensity, stood up 
and made a speech. Now, speech -making was not Tim’s 
vocation, but, as a rule, he knew what he wanted to say, 
and was brave enough to say his say. 

“ Well, pards, so a parson’s a’coming. Well, let him 
come ; we won’t spill a sickly parson without givin’ him a 
chance ; we don’t want no singin’ and prayin’ about Sweet 
Brier Gulch, and we will give that parson such a blast he 
can’t make no mistake about our meanin’. But we’re fair , 
ain’t we, pards? We don’t stab a man in the back, nor hit 

33 


him when he’s down ; we don’t have to have no law makers; 
we make our own laws and do our own hangin’ when we 
see fit without no expense to the State. So we will give 
this sickly parson a chance to git. Then, if he don’t git, 
why then its time to help him git. Say, pards, what do 
you say?” Of course Tim’s reasoning was so plain and 
eloquent and full of good logic, it carried conviction with 
it. The next night when they all met in the saloon they 
found the very sickly parson they were expecting. Tim 
made his speech of the night before, to which the parson 
listened with flattering attention, and there was not a quiver 
of a muscle to denote fear, but a resolute, steadfastness of 
purpose about the sensitive mouth of the “ sickly parson.” 
After Tim had finished speaking the parson stepped closer 
to the men and said : 

“ Gentlemen, you have generously and fairly offered to 
give me a chance to go. I beg of you for one chance to stay. 
I have lived for many months among your kind of men, 
and I know you are brave men of your word, fair-minded 
and just. Give me one chance to stay , then if you say 
the word, I will go. Let me have that chance now, here 
to-night, my men. Just one chance give me.” 

They all retired to a corner of the room and held a 
whispered consultation, the result of which was, give the 
parson one chance. 

Such a sermon as was preached that night in the 
Last Chance ’ ’ saloon ! It was the simple story of the 
Christ child, told in a simple way. He did not call them 
sinners, but dwelt on the love and tenderness of God. He 
spoke to them of their mothers, who were almost forgotten 
by many of them ; of their wives, children and sweethearts 
waiting longingly and patiently for the return home of the 
husband, father and lover. 

Then he prayed a prayer which seemed an inspiration, 
34 


stirring the very souls of these rough gold diggers, and 
which dug through the callousness of years and found their 
hearts. The “ parson ” was the only one in the room with 
his hat off, but when he said amen, there were bowed heads 
and rubbing of coat sleeves across their eyes. Then the 
parson raised his head and said : “ Now, my friends, sin% 
something ; anything you know . ’ ’ There was a short silence , 
then “ Fighting Tim ” started up “ Whoa, Emma.” One 
by one the men joined in and the parson helped with the 
chorus ; then saying, “ that is fine, now all sing the second 
verse.” That second verse was begun on the first word by 
every man in the saloon. The bottles and glasses on the 
counter and shelves fairly danced, while the windows and 
doors shook with the vibrations of these strong men’s 
united voices. Then, with a friendly smile, the parson 
thanked them for their kind attention, blessed them and 
said: “Now, my friends, shall I go to-night?” when 
“ Fighting Tim ” stepped forward, and, taking his hat off 
for the first time during the evening, said: “Parson, the 
words of that song somehow didn’t seem to fit and be just 
right after what you had been sayin’, but the tune made 
somethin’ soft like inside of me, and I feel like another 
meetin’. What say you, pards, another chance for the 
parson? ” 

They all to a man, agreed. This was the beginning of 
the end. In a few weeks the “ Last Chance ” saloon could 
not hold the congregation, They offered to build a meeting 
house. In a few months so many times had the parson 
mentioned their mothers, wives and little children, there 
began to be some talk of sending for them if they could be 
made comfortable. Each time the parson made the sugges- 
tion come from them as though it was their own idea. He 
would seem to hesitate just long enough to make them 
more determined to surmount difficulties. 


35 


In a year, Sweet Brier Gulch was a thriving, busy little 
settlement, with comfortable cabin homes, meeting and 
school-house, and a modest, but good, library. 

In two years an old settler would not have recognized 
Sweet Brier Gulch, it was so changed. The “ Last Chance ” 
saloon was still there and had its old patrons — most of 
them — but few new ones ; and all, including the barkeeper, 
were ready to spill their gold dust or heart’s blood for the 
“ sickly parson.” 

Silas could not get his strength of before the battle with 
the “ Rustlers,” and he grew weaker each day. 

There came a day when he had to sit down while 
preaching, and he had to ask for an assistant. These big- 
hearted men assured Silas he could have as many assistants 
as he wanted, if he would just try to get well. Silas wrote 
to his friend, the chaplain of the hospital in Cheyenne, and 
he consented to come and help him carry on his good work. 
A day came when he could not rise from his bed. 

In the sick room would be his first friends in the 
Gulch — “ Fighting Tim,” “Bloody Mike,” “One-Eyed 
Bill,” and others, all with hats off, bowed heads and wet 
eyes, appreciating the fact staring them in the face — that 
they would not have their ‘ ‘ best friend ’ ’ with them long. 

Then came the day when his sleep knew no awaken- 
ing. These rough, tender men prepared their beloved par- 
son for his last sleep. They would allow no one else to 
touch him. They made, with their own hands, his coffin, 
dug the grave and carried him on their strong, bent shoulders 
to his last resting place. Crepe was on every door and 
mourning in every heart. About the grave stood the mem- 
bers of the first prayer-meeting held in the “ Last Chance ” 
saloon. And after the new minister had invoked the bless- 
ing of God on his sorrowing people they all fell on their 
knees beside the open grave and repeated together, “ Our 
Father, who art in heaven, Thy will be done.” 


36 


Ube Slower family. 


Once upon a time in the sunny south, among the great 
pine woods where the sweet jasmine had full sway, entwin- 
ing lovingly, with magic witchery about the tall, stately 
trees, and filling the air with sweet fragrance and repose, 
there lived a little boy who had first opened his sombre blue 
eyes where all about him was poverty and illness. His 
back was bent and he was frail and weak, and at times his 
poor sick back would hurt him very, very much. But he 
was a brave little fellow, full of courage, who from baby- 
hood had borne his pain with uncomplaining patience. 

His parents were very poor and had to work hard to 
provide even a few clothes and scant food for their five 
little ones. The other children were all strong and lusty, 
and Max would shrink from their noisy, rough play, pre- 
ferring to spend most of his time all alone, finding his 
happiness complete in playing with the tiny stones and 
shells to be found in the road, or talking to the trees and 
flowers ; the little invalid felt very close to his nature 
friends. 

He had planted a beautiful garden of wild flowers of 
all kinds ; roses, wood violets, lilies of the valley and pan- 
sies. All the flowers seemed to know and love his care, 
and everything thrived and grew under his spell. 

He separated the different beds of flowers with rows 
of many colored shells and stones, which he had washed 
in a sparkling stream of cool spring water, until they were 
clean and glistening. Here sat the tiny cripple, with eyes 
full of rapture and contentment, telling stories to himself, 
singing and holding long conversations with all nature. 

37 


One morning, after a restless night, Max felt very 
weary, and after nodding sleepily for a short time, he laid 
his golden curls on a pillow of wood violets and had this 
beautiful dream: 

In a far-away corner of the garden there grew two rose 
bushes — one a light pink rose, the other a great dark crim- 
son. They grew and blossomed profusely, while the sun 
shone ; then came a storm, so severe that the rose bushes 
were almost bereft of blooms. When the sun came out 
and the winds were still, the rose bushes straightened and 
threw out fresh buds. 

Then came another storm, which increased in fury 
until it became a hurricane . The storm was so fierce and 
dark, and lasted so long, getting more and more relentless, 
that all the roses fell, the bushes were bent and broken, 
and lay on the ground. The pink rose was so blasted 
that it leaned for support on the stronger crimson one, and 
had it not been for the stay and brave encouragement of 
this splendid red rose, the pink one would surely have died. 
After a time of nursing and bright weather, with sun and 
refreshing showers, the pink rose revived again, and once 
more the two rose bushes stood up straight; when close to 
them grew a royal purple and gold fleur-de-lis. Max called 
them Mother and Father rose bushes and Aunty fleur-de-lis. 

One morning in early June, when the sun was at his 
highest, there sprang up, at the very roots of the rose 
bushes, a tiny wood violet, modest and shy, exquisite in 
coloring and very perfect in form. The wee baby violet 
did not get strong, and in a few months passed away into 
the sunlight. 

Thirty-three sad and lonely months dragged them- 
selves into the past for the Mother and Father rose bushes, 
when one morning, on the last day of crisp February, 
there peeped out of the soft blanket of green moss, just 

38 


between the Mother and Father rose bushes, a sturdy, 
brown and yellow pansy. His little round face shone with 
glory and radiant baby smiles, with a promise to cheer and 
comfort the sorrowful hearts of the Mother and Father rose 
bushes. The Aunty fleur-de-lis bent her graceful stalk 
over the precious boy pansy, helping the parent rose bushes 
to protect him from the hot summer suns and hard storms. 

So the sturdy pansy grew to be strong and beautiful, 
shedding light and perfume on all about him. 

Two delightful years passed with this irresistable and 
blessed baby pansy, when came a day in fickle, early 
April, amid showers and sunshine, there crept into the 
light, slowly and timidly, one little slender stem of lily of 
the valley, with only two slight, pure white bells on it, 
close together, side by side. One tiny bell stood out boldly 
and saucily from the stem, asserting his right to a place in 
the big world. They named him Star-bright. He was well 
developed, joyous, saucy, rollicking and independent, 
brimming over with smiles and caresses, yet proud and 
dignified. His twin bell was called Snow-drop, for he 
seemed about to melt away, so transparent and frail was 
his little body — matchless in form and whiteness — but very 
faint and diminutive, with a fragrance of angel kisses. 
Snow-drop clung close to the stem, leaning on his brother. 
Star-bright would ring his little bell and quiver and bow in 
play, to amuse his twin brother, who was so dependant on 
others for everything. When Snow-drop would be tired 
and ill, Star-bright would fill his bell full of sweet, cool 
dew and give it, for refreshment, to the poor sick bell. 

Star-bright was never impatient or angry with his 
twin brother, although he would often insist saucily and 
imperatively for his rights and wrongs too — when playing 
with his big pansy brother. 

Pansy was very proud of his handsome twin brothers, 
and was always generous and ready to play with them, 


39 


and felt very grown up and important when the baby bells 
were left in his care. They loved and idolized their big 
brother Pansy, and made of him their hero and idol, who 
could do no wrong. 

Snow-drop’s patient, loving smile was always ready 
for those he loved, even though the brave, sweet smile had 
to wade through tears and pain. Although so helpless 
and dependant, he was a shining star of glory to his ador- 
ing flower family. They all pressed close to these baby 
bells, nursing and caring for them every minute and every 
hour, by day and by night. 

Aunty fleur-de-lis gave her whole heart, soul, mind 
and strength into caring for and entertaining the flower 
boys, so dear to her; indeed Star-bright almost thought 
her his mother. She was quite as beloved by his little 
flower heart. 

Aunty fleur-de-lis was every place in the house-hold 
of the flower family. She nursed them all to health when 
they were ill, and when the happy, frolicking days came, 
it was always dear Aunty fleur-de-lis who lead the games. 

Many, many times when the rose bushes would be 
discouraged and fatigued, and would begin to wilt with 
care and anxiety of the little family, with its precious inva- 
lid, Aunty fleur-de-lis would reach down her purple leaves 
filled with golden sunshine and dew of hope, and by her 
strong faith would bring peace and rest into the garden 
home. She never tired of watching over the flower family. 

This little household lived much to themselves in the 
remote corner of the garden, and were satisfied and happy 
in the family circle, crowned with baby flower faces, inno- 
cent and pure. 

The great, beautiful pansy brother continued to grow, 
dark and strong and ever tender and gentle with the dainty 
twin bells, spreading over them, in protection, his great 
yellow leaves in such contrast to their snow whiteness. 


40 


The days passed, and Star-bright talked his lisping 
flower conversation, and deeper and deeper he crept into 
the heart of Aunty fleur-de-lis. When he was wilful and 
the Mother rose bush would threaten punishment if he 
were not a good little bell, he would call “Oh! my Aunty 
fleur-de-lis, come to Star-bright.” 

Fragile Snow-drop was too ill and weak to talk ; he 
made his wants known by tears and smiles. 

Days passed into nights and nights into days, until 
three years had grown, when Good Friday solemnly 
marched into the universe, bearing the message of the Holy 
and blessed day when the Saviour of the world gave His 
life on the cross. The clouds grew heavy and the sun hid 
his face, the lightning spoke fire, and the thunder moaned 
and sobbed, while the sky wept great sheets of rain. The 
Mother and Father rose bushes and Aunty fleur-de-lis bent 
over the flower children to protect them from the storm. 

After the sun came out and all was quiet, the sturdy 
Star-bright drooped ; he had been bruised by the storm. 
The entire flower family nursed and tenderly cared for the 
crushed, fainting lily of the valley — no longer the saucy, 
sturd3^ flower boy. 

Saturday came, and while the world was still wet with 
its fresh dew of morning, Star-bright quietly folded his 
little leaves and left those who loved him so dearly on earth, 
and went to meet the Christ who would rise on Faster day. 
The last words upon his cherished flower lips were : “My 
Aunty fleur-de-lis.” 

The small, frail twin bell was left desolate and fright- 
ened on the single lily stem. Snow-drop pined and grieved 
and in three short months he gave to the world one last 
sweet smile, and with a great sigh closed his delicate leaves 
and joined his flower brothers behind the immense blue 
curtain of the sky. 


41 


Poor Mother and Father rose bushes, and Aunty fleur- 
de-lis, with heavy hearts and empty lives, tried to be 
brave and take up the thread of living and blooming frag- 
rance for others ; and because of these blessed baby flowers 
who had been so precious to all of them, they worked for 
other baby flowers, whose soil was poor and dry. 

The pansy brother waxed stronger and more and more 
beautiful each day and unfolded his superb yellow leaves, 
full of love, to try to make the pain and loneliness easier for 
his Mother and Father rose bushes and Aunty fleur-de-lis, 
who were ever watchful and prayerful that this priceless 
boy pansy should grow to maturity, pure, sweet, brave and 
good. 

The garden grew and was luxuriant with blossoms, and 
sometimes when the sun puts on his night cap, and the world 
sleeps, the moon holds out his magnificent lamp so that the 
Mother and Father rose bushes and Aunty fleur-de-lis may 
look over the golden gate of heaven and see the flowers that 
had bloomed on their garden wall and had climbed to the 
other side. 


42 


1ba3el’s ibappentngs. 


When Nellie Franklin arrived in this beautiful world, 
she found a warm welcome waiting for her in her new 
home. There had preceded her, in her parents’ hearts, 
four boys and one little girl. The baby sister did not stay 
long with her mother, for God took her to heaven to live 
with Him. So there was a royal welcome to the new little 
girl baby. 

As Nellie grew, she became weak and miserable, and 
nine months old found her unlovely, disagreeable and 
fretful. Because of her illness, the pleasant expression 
her little round face might have had was buried very deep 
in frowns and scowls. When a day would come and 
Nellie felt better, her face would wreath itself in smiles, 
and everybody was ready and anxious to do her honor. 
Then would come a scowling day, and just the faithful, 
devoted mother could see anything to love in the tiny girl. 
She was called Hazel, because of the color of her eyes, 
and many people thought it all the name she had. 

Hazel’s father was General Edmund A. Franklin, 
and had won distinction during the Mexican and Civil 
Wars. General Franklin was not only a brave soldier, a 
courteous, manly and loyal gentleman of the old school, 
but was a man of literary taste, and wrote a couple of 
books during his later years. Mrs. Franklin was beautiful 
and amiable ; she was always gentle, refined and composed 
in manner, possessed with great tact and grace, and much 
beloved by all who knew her. 

During the Civil War, General Franklin had his 
family join him when his regiment was quartered at agree- 

43 


able headquarters. In March, the General was stationed 
comfortably in Memphis, and sent word to his wife to pack 
children and clothing and come to him for a short visit. 
General Franklin, with a brother officer, went to the station 
to meet the little family. 

Of course, traveling with four children meant a nurse 
and much hand baggage, because of the troublous times 
when trunks were uncertain about reaching their destination 
for many days, if at all. 

After the General had greeted his family, he presented 
his friend, and they all commenced to pick up the baggage 
to leave the train. In a little while every one had their 
arms full to overflowing, with the exception of the General’s 
friend, and there sat Hazel, feeling neglected and looking 
like a thunder cloud. No one had any spare arms, as the 
Lord had given only two to each one. Every one for the 
moment had forgotten her majesty. Seeing the trouble, 
the General’s friend came to the rescue, sprang forward 
and took Miss Hazel into his arms, frowns and all, but not 
without embarrassment, as the young lady felt she did not 
know him well enough to permit him the honor of carrying 
her to the carriage in waiting. So she promptly screamed 
and howled at the top of her voice, and twisted and 
wriggled her little body so much that the poor gentleman 
all but dropped her ladyship. By the time he reached 
the carriage, to deposit his unwilling burden into the arms 
of her family, she was turned upside down in her clothing, 
the gentleman’s hat was gone, his collar torn from its 
moorings and stuck in his eye, his cravat was over his 
left ear, hair stood straight up and the perspiration rolled 
down his purple face in rivers, and he had only walked 
about twenty feet. By the time he reached base, he was 
not walking but edging along, his knees doing their share 
towards helping his hands and arms to manage their 

44 


fighting load. He had one end of her coat between his 
teeth to insure against her falling, and even then the 
General, convulsed with laughter, had to reach nearly to 
the ground to get hold of Hazel to lift her into the car- 
riage. As his friend was relieved of the child he said: “Great 
Scott, General ! What an impossible infant. I would rather 
encounter a whole battalion of the enemy.” Poor man! 
He never forgot that experience of holding in his arms an 
unwilling young lady. 

Of course, Hazel was told of that scene in her early 
youth, and of the officer’s uncomplimentary remark. And 
when she was seventeen years old she met him again, and, 
feeling the sweetness of revenge, she advanced with all 
her batteries loaded to attack him at every side. The result 
of the encounter was victory for Hazel, for the officer 
apologized for everything and declared it was all his fault. 

As the years rolled on and Hazel was four years of 
age, she was well and strong, full to overflowing with 
spirit and naughtiness. Some people, who were kind and 
charitable, called it mischief. 

Hazel very much disliked being washed and dressed ; 
in fact, this independent little girl liked nothing that, in 
the slightest degree, interfered with her liberty. When 
the hour came for her daily bath she would be caught, then 
held a prisoner all of the time, or she would disappear. 

One hot afternoon in July, Hazel’s nurse, Bridget, 
neglected to get something she needed for the bath. 
Bridget had her small charge all ready to put her in the 
tub. As Hazel seemed entirely absorbed in playing with a 
string of buttons, Bridget thought she could step into the 
next room and be back before Hazel could discover her 
absence. When the poor nurse returned, it was just in 
time to see Miss Hazel vanish out of the door and into the 
yard. Bridget ran after her, but Hazel’s little feet scarcely 

45 


touched the ground. She had on only her birthday clothes 
and felt in her glory. The front gate had carelessly been left 
open, and out flew Hazel, straight down town, as fast as 
her flying feet could carry her. Bridget was appalled; 
Mrs. Franklin called, “Go after her, Bridget, she will get 
lost.” Bridget cried, “How can I, mam, she has’nt a 
stitch on her, mam, but her skin.” Mrs. Franklin, with 
feelings of amusement and alarm, ran out to the gate. She 
saw her naughty little girl quite two blocks away and still 
on a gentle run. Fortunately it was in the middle of the 
hot day and few people were on the street. Mrs. Franklin 
saw a cranky old bachelor neighbor, Mr. Williams, come 
toward the child. At first he looked as though he would 
have apoplexy ; then he changed his mind and seemed to 
comprehend the situation. He knew he must not seem to 
pursue, or he would never catch those nimble feet, for he 
knew Hazel well. So with his most bewitching smile, and 
his bunch of keys rattling on their chain, in his hand, he 
cautiously approached the child saying, in his most charm- 
ing tones, “How do you do, Hazel; look what I have.” 
With a pleased smile Hazel took his hand and the keys, 
and then Mr. Williams commenced to tell her a story. And 
in this way this cranky old bachelor and a naked little girl 
walked back to her home. Mrs. Franklin saw them coming, 
and knew if Hazel should see one of her care takers, that 
Mr. Williams would never be able to manage her ; so Mrs. 
Franklin slipped into the shadow of the porch. Mr. Wil- 
liams quietly put Hazel inside the gate and closed it after 
her, and her ladyship was caught. 

After that, Hazel was always tied with a towel to an 
article of furniture, when she was wanted to remain where 
they could get hold of her. 

Mr. Williams had never seen much of children ; what 
little he had seen he did not like. He had always been 

46 


made uncomfortable when they were near him. He had 
always thought it was a mistake that children were in- 
vented. He felt it would be so nice if everybody could be 
placed in the world grown up. But after that experience 
of walking hand in hand on the street for two blocks with 
a little savage, he was her sworn friend. 

The following week Judge Brown died. He was one 
of the landmarks of the town, and was respected and 
beloved by every one. The funeral was the largest the 
town had ever witnessed. Hazel had been much inter- 
ested in the preparations made by the judge’s friends to do 
him honor, and she had asked many questions relative to 
death. Her mother had explained to the child how often- 
times, when people were very ill and suffered pain, that 
God would be so sorry for them, and in His goodness and 
love He would take them to heaven, where they would 
always be happy and well. 

The funeral ceremonies had been very sad and impres- 
sive. The church was crowded with the friends of the late 
judge, when out of the stillness came a perceptible stir 
among the congregation of suppressed smiles. There, 
walking up the middle aisle, was Hazel. She had been 
making mud pies. One slipper and stocking were off. 
Her golden curls were in a tangle and hanging over her 
dirty little face. A big black cat was under one arm. 
The small girl with such a solemn face walked quietly up 
to the chancel, then stopped, and, looking up to the rector, 
said: “Has God corned to get him yet?” It was not 
laughter that brought the tears to the eyes of the good 
man as he answered in a low voice, “Yes, my beloved 
child.” 

Then the congregation had another shock. Mr. Wil- 
liams, the child hater, walked toward Hazel, and, smiling 
down into the wee, grave face, stooped and took the child 

47 


and cat into his big strong arms and whispered, “ I know 
where to get the best candy,’ ’ and quietly walked down 
the aisle, while one small hand, looking like mud pies, 
was patting his cheek. When Mrs. Franklin could bring 
herself back from the land of horror, she breathed a prayer 
for that dear man who had come to her rescue. 

August came, and Mrs. Franklin, with the family, 
was going to French Lick Springs, to remain a month. 
The day for their start had come, and the trunks had been 
sent to the station, and all were about ready to start for 
the train, when Mr. Williams arrived to say good-bye to 
his little friend “Joy,” as he called her. He had been 
talking to Mrs. Franklin a few moments, and when they 
all moved to go they discovered that Hazel and one of her 
little brothers had disappeared from the room. Finally, 
Mr. Williams, in a smothered voice, called, “Here is 
‘ Joy! ’ ” Hazel and her brother Abner were sitting on a 
valise. She had cut off his eyebrows and lashes with the 
scissors, and he had returned the compliment, and they 
looked like two little monkeys. When Mr. Williams 
could control his laughter he caught Hazel in his arms 
and said : “ Oh, ‘ Joy,’ I will die of the blues while you 
are away. What do you think you will do next? ” She 
answered, in a most obliging voice, “ I will cut yours off 
if you want me to.” The children were such frights that 
Mrs. Franklin did not know what to do. However, it 
was decided they had better follow their trunks. But it 
was many weeks before the hair grew again on the little 
eyes. 

They arrived at the springs on Saturday morning. 
The hotels were crowded and every one on pleasure bent. 
In the afternoon Hazel and her brothers were sweetly 
dressed all in white. Hazel, with her little white slippers, 
big picture hat, with white feathers bobbing over her yel- 
low curls, and carrying a little white silk parasol, which 


48 


never was in the direction of the sun, with Bridget, started 
out to see and be seen. Hazel walked like a very resplen- 
dant peacock, her eyes reflecting perfect satisfaction and 
approval of her little strutting figure. 

Mrs. Franklin felt very proud of her children as they 
went along chatting and attracting much attention. 

They stopped to admire the gold fish flashing in the 
fountain. Hazel’s eyes snapped as a shining beauty swam 
near her. Her color came and went, and she breathed 
quickly, casting at Bridget shy glances. The temptation 
was too much for the little girl to resist it longer, and 
down went the plump hand into the water, and, losing her 
balance, over went Hazel splash into the fountain, a white 
fish among all the gold ones. People who saw the acci- 
dent screamed, and a boy of sixteen, standing near Hazel 
at the time, jumped in after her and brought her out of the 
fountain, looking like a drowned Undine, and holding 
tight in one small hand was a gold fish. She was very 
full of water, but not a bit frightened. When she could 
speak she held up her prize, saying, “ I got him that 
time.” 

Hazel’s introduction to the Springs people was a great 
success, and from that day she was crowned queen of the 
babies. 

Imagine the feelings of Mrs. Franklin when her little 
daughter, whom she had watched out of sight a few 
moments before with so much pride in her daintiness, was 
brought into her room dripping like a very sopping rag. 
Mrs. Franklin looked reproachfully at her little girl, 
when Hazel said, cheerfully, “Never mind, mamma, 
I’ll dry.” 

Hazel did dry, but took cold. She had improved in 
health since her infancy, but took cold easily, and she was 
croupy and feverish for a few days after her dive into the 
fountain. 


49 


The cold settled in one eye, and she heard her mother 
say that the eye was much “bloodshot.” So, when the 
General came to visit them for a few days, Hazel was inter- 
ested in telling him all about the accident. She said : 
“ Oh, papa! my eye was all shooted with gun blood.” 

The next day after her father’s arrival Hazel was 
playing football with her brothers on the second-story 
veranda. The ball was kicked to her, and she started after 
it on a full run. Down the steps rolled the ball, and 
Hazel, giving a last big reach, lost her balance, and down 
she went after it, bumping her poor little head on the steps 
as she went. 

Again she was carried to her mother, but this time 
bruised and suffering. Her poor head was bumped all 
over. Mrs. Franklin, with real anxiety, said to her hus- 
band : “I am extremely anxious about our little girl, who 
is constantly in trouble. I never see her leave me that I 
don’t offer a prayer for her safe return.” 

The following day Hazel was not able to play out of 
doors. She was entertaining herself quietly with her 
mother and paper dolls, when, in passing the open door, 
and not looking where she went, ran into the door, knock- 
ing her poor sore head. She came to her mother, saying, 
“ Mamma, kiss me and make me well ; I have just bumped 
my bumps.” Hazel seldom cried for an injury to her per- 
son, but her feelings were much more sensitive. She was 
longsuffering, but when she did get angry she was a little 
tornado, stamping her feet and screaming at the full 
strength of her very hearty lungs. When she forgave, 
she bore no malice, and never pouted ; but out of the tears 
would beam smiles. There never was a cloud so dark that 
Hazel could not see a little glimmer of sun. 

As Hazel grew older she became strong in muscle and 
limb. Then a new little sister came to the house, so frail 


50 


and delicate they all feared she would not remain. The 
little sister was always gentle and fragile while a young 
child, and always had to have the most tender care. She 
played quietly in the house with her dolls and buttons, 
while her tomboy sister, Hazel, romped and ran wild, 
always preferring boy’s games to those of girls. Hazel 
loved her dolls, but she was ready to put them away when 
the boys came home. 

Hazel’s brothers were always kind to her and loyal. 
She never felt unwelcome with the boys. On the contrary, 
they would often make special requests for the pleasure of 
her society when they were going to indulge in something 
particularly exciting. 

When Hazel was eight years old she was one day play- 
ing with the boys, as usual. She was the only girl with 
fifteen boys. It had been raining all day, and about 
5 o’clock had cleared. The game was “Back Out, or 
Follow the Leader.” The leader climbed to the top of a 
chicken house which stood about ten feet high, then 
with a flourish, jumped to the ground. All the boys fol- 
lowed one by one, and waited for the little girl. Hazel 
had done this many times before, so, with a toss of her 
golden curls, she gathered in her hand her short skirts, 
when she slipped on the wet roof and fell to the ground. 
The boys knelt about her, and her big brother, Bradford, 
picked her up and carried her tenderly and carefully to the 
house. All of the other boys ran ahead, calling loud as 
they ran, “ Hazel is hurt ! Hazel is hurt ! ” She was borne 
into her home and father and the doctor sent for. Her arm 
was found to be broken at the wrist and the elbow. Hazel 
would not let the doctor touch her, and he had always been 
a little awed by this small tomboy. She was held and 
forced under the influence of chloroform — smothered by it — 
and in a short time was unconscious and helpless. Sud- 


51 


denly, to the alarm of every one, her pulse ceased beating 
and the heart stood still. It seemed for a second that the 
troubles of the little girl were over, but prompt attention 
restored her. Then the doctor went on with setting the 
arm. In a few moments, with no more chloroform and 
without warning, Hazel again collapsed. This time other 
doctors were sent for, and it was some seconds before the 
little heart responded. At last the arm was set, and the 
rollicking, noisy, mischievous tomboy, harmless and meek 
enough now, was laid in her white bed, and for weeks was 
petted and spoiled by every one. And her most devoted 
slave was Mr. Williams, who never tired of telling her 
stories. He would beg to have his little friend wrapped in 
a blanket, and then, tenderly holding her in his arms, he 
would rock her gently in a big chair, singing to her all of 
his college songs that he thought he had forgotten, she 
looking up into his face with unspeakable admiration and 
he watching her eyelids get heavy, opening and closing 
again, sleepily, and finally staying closed. Then, kissing 
the curls touching his face, he would put her to bed. 

The doctor had urged Mrs. Franklin to be very care- 
ful ; that if the arm should be jarred and the bones displaced 
the child would certainly have a bent arm. The devoted 
mother could not let the little girl out of her sight, fearing 
an accident to the little unfortunate. 

Poor freedom-loving Hazel found her life a burden 
with so many caretakers, and always ringing in her ears 
the words “ be careful.” 

One Saturday, about four weeks after her accident, 
Hazel’s brothers ran in to their mother and begged that 
Hazel be allowed to come to their “show” in the stable loft. 
Of course they received a prompt no. But they coaxed, “it 
was to be such a fine show, and poor little Hazel had’nt 
had any fun for so long.” The little girl’s eyes, full of plead- 


52 


in g, and the sincere earnestness of her boy friends won the 
day, and against her better judgment, Mrs. Franklin 
yielded upon one condition, to which they all readily agreed, 
that Hazel should remain seated in her own little chair just 
in the very spot where her mother should place her until 
Mrs. Franklin herself could come for her. The promise 
was solemnly made. 

All went well for some time. Hazel was having a lovely 
time, as she was the honored guest. The actors looked at 
her for approval while they were performing, and the clowns 
nearly broke themselves trying to make her laugh. If they 
succeeded, they kept repeating the hit until she wearied of it. 

Unconciously her chair was moved and edged along by 
her little restless feet, until there was a crash and screams — 
Hazel, chair and all had fallen out of the stable loft win- 
dow on to the wood pile below. The entire circus — actors, 
menagerie and audience, all ran screaming the awful news 
to Mrs. Franklin. She ran out with wet, pale face, and met 
Hazel coming to her, dragging after her by the well 
hand, her broken chair. Mrs. Franklin stared at the child 
for a moment, stunned with surprise, when Hazel, holding 
up the broken chair, said in the calmest tone, “now mama, 
is’nt that just the badest thing to happen.” 

The doctor hurried to answer the summons, looking 
troubled and serious. He took off the bandages and found 
the bones had not been disturbed in the slightest degree. 
Then looking into the face of the child, he said : “Took 
here, spirit, you must have hurt something, what did get 
hurt?” She answered with concern, “why my beautiful red 
chair is all gone up. ” In time the arm was just as good asnew. 

The next summer Hazel was in her favorite spot for 
eating cherries, sitting on top of the house, astride the peaked 
roof, holding on to the lightning rod. One limb from the 
cherry tree had found its way over the roof. Hazel was 

53 


oblivious to her surroundings, eating away as fast as she 
could swallow, when one of her boy friends suddenly called 
to her, at the same time throwing a stone into the tree, “just 
to startle her.” He succeeded beyond his most sanguine 
expectations, for her jump was too much for her slight grip 
and down she fell straight to the ground. She was picked 
up, for dead ; but was only stunned, her only injury being 
a badly cut lower lip, and although she has grown to be a 
woman, with children of her own, she still has that scar. 

Hazel’s brothers taught her to repeat some verses of 
poetry which they had had to learn in school. The little 
girl was as proud of her accomplishment as they were, and 
always enjoyed “speaking her speech” as she called it. 
Often she forgot what came next, then she would begin to 
swallow and swallow, with her eyes rolled up, showing only 
the whites, in her effort to remember the lines, pretending 
that she knew it perfectly, if she could just get comfortable 
enough to say it. When Hazel would have these forgetting 
and swallowing spells, trying so hard to remember, and 
swallowing all of the time, her hearers would laugh until 
they cried. 

October came and Mr. Williams was ill with grip. 
Hazel missed him very much, and daily went with her 
mother to his boarding house to enquire and leave good 
things for him to eat. 

One afternoon Hazel could not be found. Some one 
told Bridget they had seen her go into the boarding house. 
There Bridget found her, in Mr. Williams’ room. He was 
just able to leave his bed for a little while each day. He 
was lying on the lounge, and cuddled in his arms was Hazel, 
putting her fingers in her mouth, then on Mr. Williams’ 
hair, trying to make him some curls. Bridget was horrified, 
for she knew how very ill he had been. He begged the 
nurse to allow Hazel to remain for a time, declaring that she 
did him more good than medicine. 


54 


The first time Mr. Williams drove out, Hazel sat by 
his side to take care of him. The doctor told her not to let 
Mr. Williams take cold, and she was a very devoted little 
nurse. Every few minutes she pulled off his gloves to see 
if his hands were warm, and climbed upon the carriage seat 
to feel his face, or unbuttoned his overcoat to feel if he was 
warm enough, dragging the lap robe off of him in her effort 
to take care of him. The only thing that prevented Mr. 
Williams from contracting pneumonia from his many expo- 
sures that afternoon was his inward laughter, which kept 
his blood circulating. 

The winter passed into Christmas time, with holidays 
and merry times, sledding and skating. One afternoon 
Hazel was skating with some of her companions. Two 
boys, one on each side of the little girl, had her hands. 
Their eyes sparkled and cheeks glowed as they skimmed 
over the ice, as fast as they could go, when suddenly Hazel 
lost a skate. Her cavaliers were not big enough to hold her 
up, but tried with all their might, holding on to her hands, 
thus preventing Hazel from catching herself. So forward 
she fell on her face, and at first it was thought her poor nose 
was broken, but it was only bruised, yet for some days she 
was not a beauty, with her swollen nose and black eyes. 

When Mr. Williams heard of the accident, he was very 
indignant with her parents for allowing her to indulge in 
such dangerous sport without proper care. His favorite 
and oft -repeated reproach, after each fresh accident to the 
little girl, being “You don’t deserve to have that child, 
when you can’t take care of her.” 

Spring rolled round, with its warm sweet -smelling days, 
and a party of eight boys and three or four girls were 
playing in the big yard of the Franklin home. The game 
was “wild indians,” the girls were the indians, and the boys 
were the police of the plains, capturing the indians and 
holding them prisoners, to be delivered to the authorities. 


55 


All of the indians had been caught except Hazel. She 
was always the last to be caught and hardest to manage, as 
she was a champion runner and wriggler. She was finally 
captured and carried to the stable prison, and in closing the 
door on the still fighting indian, the door was slammed on 
the poor little obstreperous hand, which was fighting to the 
end, for freedom. Of course this ended the game, and Hazel 
was taken to her mother with a badly crushed hand. 

The doctor found no bones broken, but said she would 
lose three nails and suffer much pain ; she carried her arm 
in a sling for a few weeks, suffering much at times. 

The third day after the accident they were playing the 
same exciting game. Hazel’s arm in a sling did not inter- 
fere with her nimble feet, and the boys promised to be care- 
ful. One of the boys picked up a rusty pitchfork and ran 
at Hazel, expecting her to fly from such a formidable 
weapon ; but she, being so sure he would not hurt her, 
stood her ground, and one prong of the rusty fork entered 
her right leg, between the ankle and the knee, penetrating 
it to the bone. 

Of course it was an accident and the boy was in an 
agony of sorrow. He picked her up in his arms and carried 
the damaged little indian to her mother. This time the 
doctor looked very serious, as the wound was very severe. 
She certainly looked like a soldier after battle, ready to be 
sent to the hospital, with her arm in a sling and her leg too. 

When Mr. Williams passed that evening, one of Hazel’s 
brothers told him that perhaps his little friend would be one 
legged for the rest of her life. He went in to see the 
battered small tomboy, and she held out to him her left 
hand and foot, exclaiming “These are all right yet.” 

Hazel was able to play her old self in a few weeks, with 
both legs and arms. 

Fourth of July came, and with it their annual picnic, 


56 


held in the beautiful woods on the edge of the town. The 
game was‘ ‘crack the whip. ’ ’ Hazel was told confidentially ( ? ) 
that the “snapper” was the best and most exciting place. 
Of course, she chose to be “snapper.” The boy standing 
next to Hazel was a very devoted admirer of the little girl’s. 
He held very tight to her hand when she snapped, but he 
was not strong enough ; she was torn from him and thrown 
several feet, violently hitting a tree. Her knee seemed 
badly hurt, and it was all she could do to keep back the 
tears. When she tried to use it, however, she declared it 
would be better soon. Day after day passed, and the knee 
still remained painful. She said nothing of it to any one, and 
the accident was forgotten for the time. 

A few days later one of Hazel’s brothers lit the gas, and 
flirted the still burning paper in her face. It was not 
strictly a polite action, but was a very brotherly one. He 
thought she would flinch, but Hazel was not made of 
flinching material, and did not wink an eye, thereby receiving 
a very severe burn to her eyes, which at first threatened to 
be serious, and for many days she was kept with ban- 
daged eyes, in a dark room, with a penitent big brother to 
wait upon and amuse her. Mr. Williams looked through 
several libraries to find books to read to a little girl. 

Each time Mr. Williams would meet a member of 
Hazel’s family he would ask, “Any new thing happened to 
‘Joy’?” He declared, that if he were only thirty years 
younger, he would beg her to marry him, so he could take 
better care of her than her parents seemed able to do. 

Five years passed, and still Hazel suffered secretly with 
her knee. Finally her parents noticing her limping a little, 
questioned her, and she told them it stiffened a little after 
dances, and hurt some. The doctor found, upon examining 
the knee, that there was a chronic inflammation of the joint, 
and was shocked that the girl was able to walk, let alone 
dance, with such a knee. 


57 


Hazel was put to bed with a chain and weight to the 
lame leg. Mr. Williams was away on business at the time 
Hazel was sent to bed, and she had been prostrate for a 
month when he returned. 

When he saw the tanned, rosy-faced girl, so full of life 
and spirit, lying there so pale and listless, he walked the 
floor back and forth in great excitement, saying, “It is a 
shame and cruel to wear her life out like that. It is like 
catching a wild bird and tying it in a little cage, to beat 
itself against the wires, and pine to death for its liberty and 
the fresh air.” 

And he spoke the truth. Hazel had, all her life, been 
accustomed to such an active, free life in the open air, that 
her general health was breaking down from being kept in 
bed, confined to the house. So there was a consultation 
of doctors, and Hazel was placed in a big rolling chair, and 
spent each day lying out under the trees. 

Soon she was able to walk on crutches. It touched the 
tender heart of Mr. Williams to see his active friend 
hobbling along on crutches. And often he would take in 
his arms girl, crutches and all, and bear them to their desti- 
nation. Hazel never felt too grown up for these attentions 
from her “best friend,” she always felt a little girl to him. 

A day came when her “best friend” went out of her 
life as suddenly as he had come into it. He did not die, 
just disappeared from his home, and was never heard from 
again. 

The years have grown and Hazel has passed into 
womanhood. The frail little sister Mary has outgrown 
her weakness, and is a tall, stately woman. And life has 
turned into quiet paths, strewn with some thorns but many 
roses for the two sisters, who are very near to one another. 
The brothers grew to be fine men, and always remained 
faithful to their tomboy sister. 


58 


B %itc for a %iU. 


Kate Iyawrence was a pretty, foolish, little vain woman, 
with a narrow escape from being beautiful. She was alone 
in the world, and for two years had earned her daily bread 
by clerking in a dry goods store. 

Standing at an opposite counter was John Cameron, a 
delicate blonde man, who won much favor in the hearts of 
the girl clerks, because of his curling hair, rosy cheeks “dar- 
ling mustache” and polite manner. He had a preference 
for Kate’s small vain person, and finally there was a modest 
wedding in the boarding house where Kate lived with others 
of her friends. 

A very merry wedding it was, with lemonade and 
“bride’s cake.” They each had been given a holiday, and 
spent the time riding on the excursion boat on the bay, and 
squandered many more pennies than they could afford; “but 
it was their wedding day.” 

They were both going to retain their positions in the 
store, and by putting together their earnings would be able 
to do light house keeping in a flat. Matters did not go on 
very well ; Kate was fretful and untidy — whereas John, as 
a Benedict, did not receive the attention he had enjoyed from 
the girls. He grew weary of his fretful, careless wife, and 
spent his spare time loafing on the street corners, when it 
was fair, and in saloon vestibules on rainy evenings. 

When a daughter came to bring sunlight in the home 
she found a cold welcome from the weak mother and indif- 
ferent father. John found that now, as his wife was not 
earning money too, that his small supply of means would 
not make both ends meet, so he lost his grip, became dis- 


59 


couraged, and like the coward he was, gave up entirely, fre- 
quenting the saloons, where, with jolly fellows, and drink, 
he could for the time being drown his sorrows. 

His constitution, never strong, gave way, and in a short 
year Kate was a widow and the little girl baby, fatherless. 

Kate was over fond of novel reading, and gave her 
daughter the romantic name of Rosemary L,eGrand Cameron, 
and took much pleasure in the high sounding suggestive- 
ness of the name. Many times a day did eight months old 
Rosemary crawl about the floor, hungry and cold, while her 
mother finished some light tale. 

Kate took in sewing to eke out a living, but soon gave 
up the battle of life, and she was laid beside her husband, 
without a tear or regret, and poor, forlorn Rosemary was 
left alone in the conflict to live. 

For some weeks after her mother’s death, Rosemary 
was cared for by some charitable neighbors, then she was 
placed in an orphanage. She remained under its kind pro- 
tection until she was eighteen years old, and was given a 
good common school education, and taught to do general 
housework, and sew very neatly and beautifully, with 
a view to having her make her living. The matron of the 
home found Rosemary a position as waist hand, with a fash- 
ionable dress maker. Rosemary was so expert and pains - 
taking, she soon made herself indispensible to the head of 
the department. She lived in a “girls home” where work- 
ing girls, without parents, were cared for, for a nominal board. 

Rosemary was much beloved by all who knew her. 
She had a sunny, bright heart, happy, amiable disposition, 
and enjoyed to the uttermost, little things in life. She had 
inherited her father’s attractive manner, and her mother’s 
prettiness, with the added grace of pure, sweet girlishness 
and wholesome contentment, which made one call Rosemary, 
a beautiful girl. 


60 


We will leave the brave Rosemary with her sewing, and 
make the acquaintance of Charles Ambler Craven, who was 
the fourth son of Lord and Lady Dunraven Craven, of 
Castlemere, Warick County, England. 

Charles was a mortification and bitter disappointment 
to his parents, for he was a cripple. While a very young 
baby, his nurse had let him fall from her arms and his spine 
and hip had been severely injured, and he was very lame. 
Even with a boot with a thick sole and high heel he was 
still very lame, and at times would have to use a cane. 

He was always alone, and shrank from his splendid 
looking brothers, as from some evil thing. He never knew 
what it was to have a kind word and smile all to himself, 
knowing only cold disdain, reproach and ridicule. He was 
every inch a gentleman, cultured and sensitive, a good stu- 
dent and very proud. 

His parents took no interest in his future, and Charles 
knew he must place himself in the world, relying entirely 
on his own brain for his success. 

When nearing thirty years of age, he had made up his 
mind, and announced to his father that he had decided to go to 
America, and make his home in a new country. His parents 
did not try to conceal their relief to get rid of this one “ugly 
duckling,” and told him the sooner he was off the better it 
would be for all concerned. 

Charles arrived in the busy City of New York feeling 
no more strange and friendless than in his father’s house. 
In fact he felt more comfortable in meeting the indifference 
of passers-by, rather than the cold hatred of his own flesh 
and blood. 

He had fifty dollars in his pocket when he landed in 
New York, and he hoped for something to do before it was 
gone. 


61 


He went to a cheap restaurant for a bun and coffee, and 
while waiting to be served got into conversation with a 
young man near his own age. 

His new acquaintance soon knew all about Charles’ 
ambition, and discouraged him about getting a position that 
would pay, in the metropolis. He said : 

“Johnnie, I can see you are somebody , you look it and 
speak it. You go West ; that’s the place for young swells, 
with no money and plenty of brains — go to Dakota, Johnnie, 
that is a new country, and young men get rich with it.” 

After walking about the city for a couple of hours, 
Charles thought he would go to the depot to spend the 
evening, as it was a warm place and would cost nothing. 
He strolled about the waiting rooms, enjoying the new 
country and country-men, that he intended to make his 
own, and he read all the advertisements, resplendent with 
colored pictures, telling of the beauties and rich prospects 
in the western country for young men. The result was, 
that the midnight train carried Charles with it seated in a 
day coach. 

He found much to interest him and add to his admira- 
tion for his adopted country, as he was whizzed over moun- 
tain, valley, plain and river. Charles was much impressed 
with the unfinished incompleteness of the large western 
cities. All things animate and inanimate seeming to look to 
the future. It was so different from the finish and substan- 
tiality of the East and England, where the future seems 
merged into and a part of the present. 

At the end of the third day Charles, with his small trunk, 
were set down in the depot of Fargo, in Dakota. As he 
looked about him, the many avenues to wealth were not 
apparent to the naked eye, but there was no doubt of there 
being plenty of room to grow . 

Day after day lame Charles walked the streets of Fargo, 
62 


going from store to store, at first asking for a position as 
clerk or book-keeper, but finally changing his request for 
anything. At each place he was first asked for his refer- 
ence, then for his experience, then he was dismissed with a 
“nothing for you, sir.” 

It was October and several inches of snow lay on the 
ground. The prairie to the very edge of the horizon looked 
like the foaming, white-capped ocean. Charles had been 
taking little odd pieces of work he could get, in order to 
keep him from starving and to have where to lay his poor, 
tired, discouraged head. His fifty dollars had been gone 
three weeks, and yet there were no more prospects for a per- 
manent position than at the very first, if as much, for all 
these weeks had told on his appearance for the worse, as 
well as on his clothes. He hoped death would come and 
end it all; life, to him, had always been so unlovely, and 
not to be desired. He longed for peace and rest — if he could 
only die. 

Not being accustomed to roughing it, he took cold, and 
for days dragged himself from store to office, utterly miser- 
able, in pain, hopeless and despairing; then he had to sell 
his overcoat for food. This left him his English short cut- 
away coat to protect him from the cold. 

One day some school boys called to him : “Eimpy you 
would look warmer if you would sew longer tails to that 
coat.” 

An old gentleman was passing him at the time, and 
looked at Charles with a momentary glance of sympathy. 
Charles, encouraged, stepped to him, and asked him to help 
him find something to do ; that he must have work. The 
gentleman told him that he needed a clerk, but did not know 
about taking a man without reference or experience . Charles , 
grasping at straws, begged to be given a trial, that he 
would guarantee satisfaction. Charles’ attitude was so elo- 


63 


quent the gentleman could not resist, so told him to call 
at his office the next day at eleven o’clock and he would 
see about him. To Charles this meant a position ; it was 
the first time he had not met with a flat refusal. 

On the strength of his feeling of certainty, Charles 
thought to impress his employer the more favorably, so he 
bought an overcoat to cover his shabby, worn clothes, giv- 
ing as collateral his gold watch, which had been an heir- 
loom in the Craven family for generations, and only going 
to the Charles Ambler Cravens in each generation. He had 
clung to this watch as the only thing left to the life that was 
not that of a tramp. 

The next morning Charles awakened with a little 
warm thing in his breast called hope. He spent much time 
on his toilet, and after a breakfast of a cup of coffee he 
stepped into the street with the lightest heart he had ever 
known. He reached the office on time and found the gen- 
tleman very busy dictating letters. 

After two hours of waiting, the gentleman turned to 
Charles and told him that he had had an opportunity to get 
a clerk with first-class reference and experience, so had 
taken him, but he had no doubt but that Charles would get 
a position to suit him very soon. Then with a curt good- 
day, turned to his desk. 

Charles was too dazed to know how he had reached the 
side walk. He commenced to walk, and knew not, nor 
cared, where his feet carried him. 

After hours of trudging he stopped from very weari- 
ness. He had no money ; had lost his valuable watch for 
a cheap overcoat. He went to the depot to get warm for 
nothing, took off his overcoat so he would feel it the more 
when he would be forced again into the cold ; and sitting 
as close as he could get to the radiator, he fell asleep from 
sheer exhaustion of mind, heart and body. 


64 


As the evening went into the night the station master 
came to the sleeping man and awakened him, telling he 
must “move on.” Charles stood up stiff and sore, and 
rubbing his eyes, reached for his overcoat — it was gone. 

He was frenzied at the piling up of his misfortunes 
and completely lost control of himself, stamping his feet 
and beating his breast with clinched hands; moaning in 
his despair. The officer was touched, instinctively feeling 
that Charles was a gentleman despite his appearance to the 
contrary. He took Charles’ name with a description of 
the coat, and said he would speak to a detective, and if 
Charles would come to him evenings they would tell him if 
there was hope of finding his stolen coat. 

Aimlessly, Charles limped into the street and started 
to the station-house for his night’s lodging, as he had 
done on other never-to-be-forgotten nights when he had no 
money. His misfortunes, one after the other, passed 
through his mind; he felt ill mentally and physically; weak, 
tired to his very soul, cold, hungry, utterly hopeless and 
despairing. He heaved great, dry sobs and groaned aloud. 

Finally, he straightened his limp figure, looked up into 
the black, threatening clouds and said out loud : “77/ do 
it ; ” I will end it all to-night ; I cannot bear it, not another 
hour ; I have tried to be brave and patiently bear my cross 
until my time should come for me to be at rest and peace ; 
but God has forgotten me or He is cruel. 

Charles walked into an alley and tore off the lid of a 
tin can ; he would go to the station house, lie down and 
open an artery in his arm, and then quietly pass away. As 
he regained the side-walk his step was lighter and he felt 
stronger now that he had decided to end it all. 

It was midnight, and great fleecy flakes of snow were 
rapidly falling as Charles shivered along, his figure tense, 
and firm determination on his solemn care-worn face. 


65 


On turning a corner of the street he met a young 
woman hurrying along; she passed him, then there was a 
scream of terror. A drunken man had staggered out of a 
saloon and caught the arm of the woman in support. 

Charles, forgetting everything, sprang to her assistance 
and shook off the hand of the man, who, reeling from side 
to side, went his way mumbling to himself. 

Charles bent over the trembling girl, explaining that 
the man was too drunk to know what he did, and begged 
to know if he had hurt her. There they stood ; he with 
one arm thrown lightly about her waist ; she gently lean- 
ing against him, pale and quivering with fear. 

Charles was the first to recover, and politely doffing 
his hat, he asked for permission to see her safely to her 
home. She was so frightened she could not control her 
voice, so Charles took her hand and placed it on his arm, 
and said : ‘ ‘ I will take care of you now ; you must trust 
me.” 

Imagine the feelings of this Charles Craven, the crip- 
ple, who could count on one hand every kind word and 
smile that had ever been given him, and had never known 
the sweetness of a sweet woman ; to be alone at midnight 
in a driving storm with a beautiful girl, who leaned and 
depended on him for protection, with her trembling hand 
bearing a little of her weight on his shabby sleeve, and 
with her heart in her great-violet blue eyes, looking into his 
with confidence and gratitude. 

Charles forgot he was poor, hungry and cold. She 
explained to him how unusual it was for her to have to be 
out alone so late at night ; that she took her sewing home 
rather than remain at the sewing-room after dark, and 
would often sew all night, but this Saturday there were so 
many new dresses to be finished that she was obliged to 
remain, etc. 


66 


As she told her story of a life of hard work, day and 
night, and she so young and frail, so thin and pale, 
Charles’ very soul quivered within him with sympathy and 
tenderness, and he could not resist the impulse to press a 
little closer to him, the hand which rested on his arm. 

She felt he was a gentleman of a class to which she 
did not belong, he was so respectfully gentle; and she 
appreciated the culture in his voice and his polite courtesy. 
All these attributes pleased and charmed her. 

They reached her home, all too soon. She turned 
toward him, and, offering him both of her hands, thanked 
him for his service to her. 

Charles bared his head, and, taking both her hands, 
he bowed his head, touching them to his forehead. Then 
she ran lightly up the steps and the door opened, when she 
turned, and, with another smile into his eyes, she was 
gone. 

Charles stood spellbound, with bare head, looking at 
the closed door. Then a police officer, who had been 
watching this man staring at a closed door, touched him 
on the shoulder, and for the second time that night Charles 
was told to “ move on.” 

He started again for the station-house, but this time 
with bounding heart and thrilling nerves. He thrust his 
hands into his pockets, when, suddenly, he staggered as 
though about to fall, and his face was very white. His 
hand had touched the piece of tin which was to have ended 
his life. “Die to-night? No, a thousand times, no; I 
have just commenced to live! ” and, reaching the station- 
house, Charles took his place on the floor, and, with his 
face resting on the sleeve where her hand had been, he 
went to sleep and dreamed of heaven, with blue-eyed angels 
handing toward him little hands. 

At the first signs of morning he was awake, and hur- 


67 


ried to the spot where he had seen her a few hours 
before. It was like going to church ; the place seemed full 
of her presence, and he took off his hat and thanked God 
that she had come in time. 

He recalled everything she had said, and thrilled at 
the memory of when she had leaned against him for a 
moment and his arm was around her. Somehow the meet- 
ing with this sweet little woman had changed all things to 
Charles. 

The sun seemed brighter, and he did not ache or feel 
so tired ; he felt hopeful and stimulated. He did not know 
her name ; he wished he did, he would like to say it over 
and over to himself. 

As he shoveled the snow from sidewalks that morning 
to obtain money for his breakfast, he found it so easy. He 
worked with a will and did not get tired, for his heart was 
singing a happy melody. 

He was standing at the curbstone leaning on his shovel, 
lost in thought of his divinity, when there dashed up to his 
very side a handsome sleigh, full of luxurious fur rugs. A 
gentleman got up and was stepping out of the sleigh, when 
the horses took fright and jumped to one side, giving the 
sleigh a sudden jerk. The gentleman was thrown violently, 
head first, out of the sleigh. 

Charles was standing so close to the sleigh that he 
involuntarily sprang to the gentleman’s assistance, catch- 
ing him in his arms, and both fell to the ground, Charles 
on the bottom. 

The gentleman picked himself up and knelt by the 
prostrate man who had saved him from a severe fall, if not 
his life. Charles had struck his head on the edge of the 
curb, and was badly cut, and looked very white and ill as 
he lay there, stunned by the force of the fall. An ambu- 
lance was called, and Charles was gently lifted into it and 


68 


taken to a hospital. The gentleman went with him to see 
that Charles should have every comfort and attention. 

The gentleman was Mr. David Gray, the millionaire 
of Dakota, owning several ranches and wheat elevators. 

The shock of Charles’ fall, together with the unaccus- 
tomed deprivations and exposures to cold and hunger, kept 
him at the hospital for five weeks. During this time, Mr. 
Gray was his constant visitor, and Charles had told him 
his life’s history. He did not tell of his decision to kill 
himself, and why he had changed his mind; that chapter in 
his life was too sacred to put into words. 

Mr. Gray promised Charles a position, when he should 
be able to fill it. He would be an assistant book-keeper at 
first, with a promotion to chief, when he should have had 
sufficient experience. In the beginning, Charles should 
receive a hundred dollars per month. 

Charles caught his breath ; he felt he would be rolling 
in wealth, with such a sum of money at his command, each 
month. 

Mr. Gray had his own tailor measure Charles for 
clothing suitable for his position. He even found the place 
where the watch had been left, and redeemed it, winning from 
Charles a sweet, rare smile and a whole heart of gratitude. 

Charles’ prayer in his illness, had been, God keep her 
from harm. When he left the hospital, the first place he 
went was the spot sacred to him, because of his meeting 
with her , and hundreds of times, he, with closed eyes, had 
tried to recall that blessed midnight hour. 

He was finally able to take charge of his books, and 
felt he would soon be able to take the full responsibility. 

Every evening Charles walked to where he had said 
good-bye to the young woman of his dreams, and stood 
about for hours, hoping to get a glimpse of her ; he did not 
expect to speak to, only to see her. 

69 


For two weeks he had been waiting, but each night 
went to his room, tortured with fears of her illness, or 
perhaps she had left town and would go out of his life as 
suddenly as she had come into it. It seemed so cruel that 
he should have been permitted to taste of this ecstatic food 
and then have it snatched from him. 

It was two weeks before Christmas, and as usual, 
Charles stood watching and hoping against hope for his 
divinity. At last he saw her coming. 

His heart stood still a moment, then commenced to beat 
and thump so hard, he was afraid she would hear it. Charles 
hungrily watched every move of her graceful, careless figure, 
as she drew nearer and nearer. Then he felt faint, fearing 
she might have forgotten him, or would not speak to him. 
He felt he could not bear to have her look at him indiffer- 
ently. He wanted to keep in his starved heart the memory 
of her grateful blue eyes and sweet smile all for him alone. 

He withdrew so far into the shadows that she did not 
see him, and she passed by. 

At the same hour the next evening, Charles was 
waiting for her again, and again he dared not risk her 
memory. He felt happy through and through, just to 
see her pass. 

Every evening for ten days he had seen her, yet had 
not the courage to let himself be seen. 

It was two days before Christmas and Charles had 
been waiting longer than usual. At last he recognized her 
girl walk as she came towards him, daintily picking her 
way over the freshly fallen snow. She was very pale and 
her eyes looked as though she had been crying. Charles 
in his anxiety and solicitude forgot to hide; she saw him 
and was about passing, when she suddenly turned and 
recognized him. 

He forgot everything but her. He stood with his hat 


70 


in one hand and the other one stretched to her in suppli- 
cation. She smiled and came to him, placing her hand in 
his, saying “Oh sir, I was afraid I would never see you 
again, and I did want to be able to again thank you for 
your service to me, when I was nearly dead with fright. I 
am afraid you will think I have no nerve at all, and I have; 
really I am very brave indeed when it is not dark.” 
Getting permission to walk home with her, Charles told 
her of his accident and how ill he had been ; then he told her 
his name and begged to know hers. 

My name, sir, is Rosemary L,eGrand Cameron ; at your 
service she said, with a little courtesy of mock humility, 
then her laugh rang out over the frozen air like silver bells. 
Charles thought he had never heard such sweet music. 

As he was saying good-bye, he said “You look pale, 
Miss Cameron, you have been crying. Is there something 
I can do to help you? Please let me.” 

At his kind offer, when she received so little sympathy, 
Rosemary let a big tear roll down her cheek, and through 
wet eyes, she looked up into his shining, intense ones and 
she said “Please don’t think me silly and a baby, but I 
am just tired. I don’t know why, but I have been crying 
a little. And sir, there is nothing you can do for me that 
you have not already done. ’ ’ And holding out to him again 
her hand, she smiled into his eyes and said good-night. 

Charles felt he had been to heaven. On his way home 
he kept repeating to himself “Rosemary! Rosemary! I 
knew it would be something with music in it.” 

As he bade her good-night the next evening, she said 
“Mr. Craven, we girls are going to have a little tree on 
Christmas night and we can invite our friends. Will you 
come as my friend?” 

Would he? For a few seconds Charles could not speak 
for happiness. She misunderstood his silence, and quickly 

71 


flushing to the roots of her golden hair, remembering 
that he did not belong to her kind of people, she said “Of 
course, though, you have another engagement, as it is 
Christmas.” 

Charles felt she was withdrawing her invitation because 
she knew so little of him, and earnestly taking her hand, 
he said “Oh! please, please let me come.” 

His sincerity was not to be doubted, and as she ran 
up to her door, she called back “Well, if you will promise 
to be very good, you may come at eight o’clock.” 

Charles turned and walked to his room on billowy 
clouds all livid with silver and shining with light. He was 
so happy he commenced to sing to himself, making poetry 
and rhymes as he swung along towards his room. 

“Well,” he said, “I never made a rhyme before in my 
life, I believe that little woman has made my whole soul run 
to verse.” 

He surprised the newsboys and bootblacks as he passed 
them, wishing them a Merry Christmas and bidding them 
good-night. He even stopped and shook hands with a 
police officer, wishing him joy. 

At last Christmas came and with it the happiest man 
on earth. Charles was surprised that a grown man could 
have such sensations of joy and gladness. It was the first 
pleasure of his entire life ; his heart seemed like a buoy on 
a billowy sea, dancing up and down and all around ; his 
feet felt winged ; he could scarcely walk across his room, 
his inclination being to skip or fly, and all because he was 
going to be near her for three hours. 

Then came eight o’clock, and when Charles was 
ushered into the small parlor full of merry young people, 
he feared they would see him trembling, and he with diffi- 
culty, controlled his voice to speak. Charles cared not if the 
people were not the great personages he had been in the 


72 


habit of meeting at the home of his parents. There was 
just one being in the room to him. She, who had given 
him the first sweetness his life had ever known. 

Charles knew where she was and what she was doing 
every minute of that evening. 

Rosemary was dressed in a gown of blue cashmere, 
very plainly made, with baby waist and clinging skirt ; the 
neck was turned in, showing a little of her snowy throat. 
She had a bunch of holly berries in her hair. 

Charles had presented to her his Christmas offering of 
a bunch of sweet violets, and she had pinned them at her 
neck. 

He looked like a man walking in his sleep — his face 
was glowing with suppressed inner excitement. He was 
thirty years of age and was experiencing the first happiness 
of his entire life. He will never forget that evening. When 
he afterwards tried to recall it, he felt confused as to what 
had happened to give him such rapturous pleasure. 

He could just remember bright blue eyes smiling into his 
with a smile all for him, and violets near a soft white throat. 
There was one presumptuous little violet daring to touch her 
neck. At times Charles would be so occupied watching 
that one violet that he would forget to answer questions. 

When he bade good-night to Rosemary alone in the 
hall, he begged her to give him that one impertinent violet. 
When she handed it to him, he took into his, both the hand 
and violet, and looking with hungry eyes into her face, 
he said: “Tittle woman, I want to thank you for the 
first happiness I have ever known, and for the only Christ- 
mas I have not hated.” Then carrying both hand and 
violet to his face, he touched them to his brow and eyes, and 
was gone. 

Rosemary stood for a couple of moments where Charles 
had left her; then with a happy sigh and eyes nearly drowned 

73 


in tears which did not fall, she went to her room. She felt 
she could not return to her merry friends after that good- 
night. 

That Christmas night Charles hung over his bed, framed 
in gold, a broken top of an old tin can with a violet in the 
middle, and under it was written the words, “pod is good.” 

On the eve of the New Year, Charles called for Rose- 
mary to take a walk with him. He had not seen her since 
the joyous Christmas night. 

The night was cold and clear, the moon shining on the 
snow reflecting a white radiance on the little particles of 
frozen dew dancing in the light, glistening and sparkling 
as though it was snowing diamonds. The dampness had 
frozen on the trees, encasing the boughs in ice, showing all 
of the gorgeous colors of the prism. It seemed to Charles, 
he was walking on the crystal streets of paradise, with a 
beautiful angel floating by his side. He was glowing inside 
and outside. 

They went to the park, where all was still and they 
could be alone. They were standing together speechless, 
they knew not why, when in turning, Rosemary slipped on 
the frozen ground and Charles caught her before she fell. 

Again she was leaning against him, but this time held 
there by two strong arms. Rosemary, my darling, I can 
never let you go, be my wife, little one, I cannot live 
without you, you are my life, my very soul : I love you, I 
love you, I love you.” The flood gate of his heart had 
opened and was emptying itself of its great tide of love. 

Charles suddenly became himself again, and realizing 
what he had done and said, was stunned at his having 
dashed all his happiness to the ground by his uncontrol. 
Now he felt she would never let him see her again, and he 
could not bear it. 

He stood still with closed eyes, waiting for his con- 


74 


demnation, when he felt a hand touch his face, and a low 
happy voice whispered : “Oh, why do you look so strange 
and white ; open your eyes, please, and listen to me when I 
tell you I am so glad you care for me. I am so tired and 
you are strong and good.” 

Charles felt it could not be true — he stood still, looking 
at her in speechless ecstacy, then taking her face in his 
hands he turned it to him and said, “Little one, do you 
think that some day you can love me a little? It is love I 
want ; I want you to love me dear,” and looking into her 
upturned eyes to the very bottom of her heart, he read his 
answer, “Say it, let me hear you say it, my sweet.” 

Her voice came to him so low he had to bend his head 
to hear, “Yes, I am afraid I loved you that very first time 
at midnight. Do you remember that night? ” 

Charles answered: “ Remember that night ! Yes, Ire- 
member , my wife, mine.” 

Then he kissed her hands and hair. He felt his heart 
would burst if he dared kiss her lips just then. He begged 
her not to keep him waiting — his whole life had been so 
miserable and lonely, and the future so short — and she 
must work no more. After this it was his privilege to take 
care of her. She laughed a happy, purring little laugh 
and said : 

“ Oh, Charles, it is so nice to have a care-taker; you 
commenced our acquaintance by taking care of me, and I 
love your care — it is so gentle and sure — but I promised to 
keep my place in the sewing room through the spring sea- 
son, and I must keep my promise. Charles, we must not 
begin our happiness with a broken promise. Miss Ellis 
will have a hard time to fill my place.” 

Then with a shake of her head, she continued, “I’ll 
have you know, sir, that I sew very well indeed, and she 
cannot do without me.” Then she interrupted herself 
with another happy laugh. 


75 


Charles’ earnest, hungry gaze embarassed her, so gently 
placing her hand over his eyes, she continued, “And when 
I did not have you, she took care of me and she has tried 
to make things easy for me. But sometimes a little lonely, 
tired feeling would come, and then I could not swallow the 
lump in my throat, and the lump would get so big that I 
had to cry, to melt it. And now I will never feel tired or 
lonely again, for being with you, dear, has made me happy 
and rested from the very first.” 

Charles wrote his father of his prosperity, and sent 
him a picture of his future wife, the beautiful Rosemary 
LeGrand Cameron. 

My Lord and Lady Craven enjoyed to the uttermost, 
telling their friends of their son Charles, speaking with 
pride of him for the first time. And the name and beauty 
of his bride was a delight to them. 

They wrote him a letter of congratulation, and sent 
his bride a diamond bracelet belonging to the Craven jewels. 
They were ready now, in Charles’ happiness and prosperity , 
to give him smiles and kind words. 

Rosemary had never felt the luxury of being apart 
from others in a heart. Even when a young baby she had 
had to divide affection and caresses with many others like 
herself, dependant on charity. And after leaving the 
Orphanage she had had to work beyond her strength, and 
take care of herself as best she could. So the luxury of 
having a great, strong, pure man’s heart, overflowing with 
love and tenderness for her alone, continually watching 
over her, noticing when she was weary, and begging her 
to be careful of herself for his sake. When her eyes would 
be tired and ache, she new what was waiting to rest them. 
She knew he would come for her if she did not pass the 
corner of the street at the usual time. There was no more 
going home at night by herself. 


76 


And on stormy days a cab was sent to take her back 
and forth from work. And often Rosemary would fill the 
cab full of tired girls, and drive them all home. 

Every day and every hour she felt the great throbbing 
love and care of Charles, and it was passing sweet. 

To Charles the love and dependence of this sweet, 
beautiful girl was incomprehensible. He hugged this first 
love to his heart with ecstasy. He was constantly in fear 
that he would awaken some morning and find it all a 
dream, and had put several of her photographs about the 
wall by his bed to reassure him. He also wore around his 
neck by day and night a locket containing her face. 

When with her, he felt he never could look into her 
eyes long enough ; and when away from her, he was hungry 
and famished to have her near. 

Mr. Gray gave Charles a check to cover all expenses 
of a long wedding journey. 

He said: “ Take Rosemary East to New York, Wash- 
ington, Boston and hospitable Baltimore.” 

On the 26 th of October there was a quiet wedding in 
the little church at Fargo. Mr. Gray gave the bride away, 
and at last Charles had his Rosemary for his beloved wife. 

The eastern train had on board two happy hearts. 

Charles told his wife his life’s miseries and un- 
happy, unloved childhood, and she nestled closer to him 
when he told of his injury and neglect of his own family, 
and she was frightened when she found that her husband 
was the son of a real lord and lady. 

Charles continued: “But you brought me luck, my 
darling. I met you and I was saved from myself, and, 
thinking of you, I luckily got my head broken.” She, 
laughing, interrupted; but Charles insisted that without 
the accident he would not have known Mr. Gray, and what 


77 


would he have done for bread and butter ! When he was 
with his Rosemary he did not require food and drink, but 
when she was out of his sight he became hungry. 

They were like two happy children, talking all kinds 
of nonsense and childish fun as they sat together at the 
twilight hour, her hand in his, as the train skimmed over 
the prairie. As far as the eye could reach, on both sides of 
the track were acres upon acres of wheat fields, with their 
fluffy, golden heads bowing altogether in the same direc- 
tion, fanned by the gentle winds. The sun had disap- 
peared, in a glory of red and gold, and the married 
lovers sat silent, with their hearts full of song. Finally, 
Rosemary turned her eyes, brimming over with happy 
tears, up to her husband, saying, “Oh, Charles, please hold 
me tight ; I feel like the little woman who fell asleep on the 
king’s highway. I am afraid that I am not — I — .” Charles 
softly kissed her hair, eyes and lips, and said: “And I, my 
beautiful wife, feel like the beast who, by a kiss, was turned 
into a royal prince.” 


78 


Enticing. 

GREAT MOSIER ISEAND, 

July 30th, 1892. 

My DAREING IyAURA : 

Never, never deceive, dear ; and tell the truth always 
if the sky falls. My dear, my dear, I am in dire distress, 
and I am sure that telling my trouble to you will make it 
easier for me. I am so certain of your love and sympathy. 

You have heard me speak of Mrs. Vanhorn, I am sure. 
She has always been so kind and generous to me in many 
ways, and I have fully appreciated it all and loved her 
dearly, in spite of the fact that she was concerned in having 
her son Ernest marry me. I ought to feel much flattered, 
and so I would, perhaps, were I more interested in Ernest. 
He is good, kind, gentle and manly, but he is not the man 
whom my wayward heart would acknowledge as its master. 
I have felt indebted to Mrs. Vanhorn, since she was so 
kind and thoughtful for me and my comfort, when I have 
been ill, that I have always been afraid of being unkind and 
rude if I should tell her that her little scheme for Ernest 
and me would never materialize. And I have thought it 
best, to let her talk of Ernest until she was black and blue 
in the face, and I would sweetly smile and appear pleased. 
Now, dearie, I know that I was basely deceiving my good 
friend, but not in cold blood. I thought time would 
straighten out matters for all of us. Often, things will 
work themselves out naturally, better than we can doctor 
them. 

Eaura, you must understand that Ernest was as indif- 
ferent to me as I was to him, which was a very comfortable 
state of affairs. And although he and I never discussed 
the matter at all, I knew he was following my example of 
quietly “sawing wood and saying nothing.’ ’ So it was 
perfectly natural, I suppose, for Mrs. Vanhorn to think we 

79 


were in love with one another, although she must have 
known we had had no understanding. 

Well, we all just floated along on the surface of 
things, until Ernest became ill with lung trouble and had 
much fever. 

Mrs. Vanhorn, thinking we were everything to one 
another, because of our silence when she talked love, 
promptly sent for me to be near Ernest. Of course, I could 
not refuse to do the little that was in my power to help 
her care for him. He was her only child, and she was in 
so much trouble and anxiety. And she clung to me, 
seeming to be a little soothed and comforted by my presence. 

She thought I loved him too, and I had not the heart 
to tell her of her mistake. I made up my mind that I 
would be honest when he became well ; I would tell her the 
truth gently and kindly as I could, but it would be the 
whole truth. I felt like a deceitful wretch in accepting her 
tenderness and love, all because of her beloved boy. He 
was too ill to know or care zvho was near him. So a long, 
miserable week glided by of wretched acting on my part. 
Then, oh, Laura, he died, and I could not tell her then. 

Poor, heart-broken woman ! She would see no one but 
me , and what could I do but give her all the comfort and 
strength I had, and still let her believe that he was dear to 
me too. Laura, I never spoke the lie, but I let her believe 
it and deceived, which is worse, I think. At least, a lie is 
a truthful lie , and deceiving, is all lie. 

I accepted this awful ordeal as a part of my punishment 
for my sin, and tried to bear it bravely. I felt like a crim- 
inal ; I lost my appetite and could not sleep ; became thin 
and pale, because of my conscience, deceiving a noble, 
generous, kind friend, every hour in the day. She thought 
my condition all due to sorrow and loss of the man I loved, 
and she clung to me more and more. 


80 


One evening she came to me with face wet with tears, 
full of love and grief, and placed in my hands a photograph 
of Ernest. He had had it taken just before his illness, and 
they had been sent home that day. With sobs and kisses, 
she told me to frame the picture and hang it over my bed, 
where his face would be the last thing I would see at night 
and the first in the morning. Laura, what could I do, that 
was kind, but tell her I was glad to have it and would do 
as she wished with it. And I intended to do it, too. 

I left her early that evening, feeling too ill to bear the 
strain of pretending to love the photograph, and I 
didn’t want to hurt her by indifference. I was so engaged 
with my own trouble that I did not discover, until I 
reached home, that I had forgotten the photograph, and 
left it on the train. Laura, dear, if you ever saw a woe 
begone, distressed, drear creature, it was I, as I stood in 
my own room, with this new misfortune. I cried myself 
to sleep that night, and awoke in the morning feeling com- 
forted. She would be unable to come to see me for months, 
and would probably forget about her request in hanging it, 
and I felt like Micawber that “something would turn up” 
in the meantime. 

A few days passed, and I began to cheer up a little, 
thinking the matter at an end, and feeling I had been 
taught a very important lesson in life — that “honesty is the 
best policy,” when I received a note from Mrs. Vanhorn 
asking me to come to see her, as she had been advised, by 
her physician, to go away for a change of air and scene. 

We had a nice, comfortable afternoon talking of where 
she was to go. I had said good-bye to her, when suddenly 
she put her arms around me and whispered, “Is Ernest’s 
picture hanging over your bed, Helen?” I was taken 
unawares, and was surprised into involuntarily saying yes. 

Oh, Laura, never deceive or tell one lie, it does not mean 
81 


just one , it means constant deceiving and hundreds of lies ; 
it takes so many lies to support one. I would have given 
everything I possessed to have had that yes back, but it had 
gone from me and it seemed impossible to recover it. 

Imagine my dismay, when she said “Helen, I am coming 
to see you early tomorrow morning ; I want to see my 
Ernest’s photograph hanging in your room, where I would 
have it, and he is smiling, too, dear. Don’t you feel that he 
is pleased, Helen?” Again I had to say yes. 

When I left that house I felt the best thing for me to 
do would be to go straight to the lake and jump in. I felt 
there was not enough water in the Atlantic Ocean to wash 
my lips clean of that spoken lie. To be sure, I had been 
acting one for weeks and months, but that seemed unavoid- 
able ; but here I had deliberately spoken what was untrue 
and a lie. I thought I ought not to let nice people speak 
to me, I was so unworthy. To be false to a friend seemed 
the worse kind of falseness. 

Something had to be done, and done quickly. I felt 
I had gone so far that I must see the matter to the end, if 
it killed me. I went to the photographer, who had never 
seen me before, and told him I wanted to buy one of Mr. 
Ernest Vanhorn’s photographs. My request was refused. 
He said he never sold a picture of anyone without a 
written order from the owner. I begged and implored him. 
I told him that Mr. Ernest Vanhorn was dead; and I declared 
that his mother would be willing for me to have one, but 
circumstances made it impossible for me to ask it of her. 
Finally I won the battle, and returned home with Ernest’s 
picture framed, and hung it over my bed, with a great sigh, 
that now I would be at rest. I was through with the awful 
humiliation of deception and pretense. 

The next morning brought Mrs. Vanhorn. She ran 
to me and threw herself on her knees with both arms around 


82 


me. She was in an agony of grief. She cried brokenly, 
“Oh, Helen, I have just been to the photographer to order 
more of my precious boy’s pictures, and he told me that 
yesterday afternoon a sad, sweet-faced young woman came 
to him and plead for one of Ernest’s photographs. He 
could not refuse her evident earnestness and sincerity, and 
breaking his rule, he let her have it. “Oh, Helen, to think 
there is some one who loved my dear boy, and I don’t know 
her. Some dear little woman who is loving him all the 
time and concealing it. Helen, have you any idea who 
she could be?” Laura, I choked when I said no. Why 
was I made to suffer so much for an unintentional sin? 

Mrs. Vanhorn could not stay with me long that 
morning, for which I was thankful. And as she kissed me 
good-bye, she said “Dear, you will not be jealous, I know, 
if every night I ask God to bless that sweet, sad-faced little 
woman who could not ask Ernest’s mother for his photo- 
graph.” 

Laura, I felt that the sad-faced little woman needed 
God’s blessing and forgiveness. And dearie, if I ever, 
ever deceive or speak another lie, may I experience all of 
this suffering ovef again. The strain has told on me, and 
if you are sure you will not be inconvenienced, I will accept 
your kind invitation to visit you for a short month. And 
in your fresh, wholesome society, will feel refreshed and 
restored to health — morally and physically. 

Laura, please try to approve of me. 

Always yours faithfully, 

Helen Mozier Freeport. 


83 


Bbov>e tfoe Blue. 


Situated on the bank of the majestic Hudson River 
stands the picturesqe mansion of Berresford. It had been 
built many generations. It was a large, rambling, double 
house of two stories ; the hall being so extensive that a 
four-horse team could turn around in it with ease. All of 
the rooms were correspondingly large, with high ceilings, 
high wooden mantles and huge fire places. 

A wide piazza extended the entire width of the house, 
the roof of it being on a level with the top of the house. 
Four massive pillars of white marble supported the lofty 
roof. On one side of its front was an old-fashioned 
trumpet vine, which had supplied “play horns” to many 
small boy soldiers, ambitious to fight for their country. 
The front of the piazza was almost entirely hidden by the 
sweet, insinuating jassamine, mingling with the white and 
pink climbing rose, reaching to the very top of the light- 
ning rod. On one side of the house were the honey suckle 
and blossoming grape vine, all combining to intoxicate 
the senses of man. 

The grounds surrounding the house were bewilderingly 
beautiful in the artistic, uncared-for naturalness of the 
growth of tree, vine and bush. The rose bushes, so sim- 
ply clothed in pink, yellow, snowy white and deep crim- 
son. Honeysuckle climbed the trunks of the great trees, 
unmolested, and the ground, where it was not carpeted 
with green velvety grass, wore instead, a covering of the 
royal purple violet. 

The approach to the house made one feel as though 
they were entering fairy-land. After leaving the boat the 


84 


beautiful climb began — the great trees on either side of the 
path extended some of their branches in welcome, while 
others met overhead, as though in protection. The sloping, 
rolling ground, the green grass and violets, the mingled 
beauty and perfume of the honey-suckle and roses, together 
with the sweet singing of the birds and the music of the 
restless river — dashing and splashing on the shore — satis- 
fied one’s idea of Paradise. 

The first resting place was the dear old Summer house, 
bent and groaning under its weight of vines and blossoms, 
where for so many years it had heard the sweet “old story” 
told “many a time and oft.” 

The little children breathing life for the first time under 
the sheltering arms of this magnificent home, had, in their 
turn, each become fathers and grandfathers, it being a 
family of boys from its beginning. In the house of Berres- 
ford, for six generations, only one little girl came to bless 
its stately halls — Martha Frances Berresford being the rara 
avis. Her father, Harold Berresford, had been allowed to 
mature in luxury and idleness. He was weak and vacil- 
lating in character, was a jolly, genial host, told a good 
story, and when he chose, could charm the most severe of 
his judges. Men liked him, women loved him and he was 
adored by children, of whom he was especially fond. 

Harold Berresford won the heart of gentle Mary Char- 
lotte Thomas, and married her when she was just entering 
her nineteenth year. Mary was not a beauty, but was 
thoroughly attractive and winsome. She was conscientious 
to a degree — honest in her convictions and tried to know 
her duty and perform it, at any cost to herself. She had a 
fine mind and won as friends, all who knew her. 

Harold loved his wife as much as he could love any 
woman. He respected her thoroughly, but could not appre- 
ciate her better attributes ; his redeeming quality being his 


85 


idolatrous love for his little daughter — Martha. She was so 
precious to him that she charmed him even when she was 
naughty, and any little wicked trait would amuse him to 
the uttermost. They were great chums and were always 
together ; she sitting on his shoulders with her hands 
clasped about his head. 

After ten years of married life Harold died. The 
doctor called it “heart failure,” which was a “short cut” for 
an effort to live much life in a short time. In the general 
classification consist many details, the result sooner or 
later being the same. 

Mary was crushed by the death of her husband, whom 
she worshipped, and threw her whole heart and soul into 
the life of little Martha, this only girl for so many years in 
the family of Berresford. 

Martha was seven years old when her father died, and 
she had returned his love, ten fold. 

Martha caused her mother many tears and much anx- 
ious thought, as to the best course to pursue in the training 
of the child’s vivid imagination ; it was so keen and sus- 
ceptible, that in telling the smallest circumstance only half 
of the story would be true. A dreamy, far-away look would 
come into her eyes, and her fancy would run away with 
the truth. Her listeners would, at times, be spell bound. 
Her father was always delighted, but her poor mother 
would be in tears, fearing for the future of her precious 
child. Of course this tendency to dream out loud, made 
the little girl seem untruthful, and it impressed her mother 
that her condition was serious. There were so many good 
traits in the child’s character ; she was amiable, cheery, 
generous to a fault, sympathetic, gentle, unselfish and im- 
pulsive, throwing her whole mind and heart into whatever 
interested her. She never bore malice, forgave readily an 
injury, and had the tenderest heart in the world. 


86 


Mrs. Berresford spent weary nights in thinking of her 
little daughter, and finally felt she must have advice ; so 
she sent for her beloved pastor, Dr. Morgan, who, with 
his long beard, flowing hair, kindly eyes and fatherly bear- 
ing to his people, reminded one of St. Paul. He reassured 
Mrs. Berresford, telling her not to notice the child’s flights ; 
that often by emphasizing a child’s fault, by too much 
attention, would accentuate it to such an extent, it would 
make an indelible impression on the mind, whereas, no 
notice paid to the fault, it might wither and die from sheer 
inattention, and she might be gradually weaned from her 
propensity — to waver and enlarge the truth. 

Martha was very fond of beautiful things ; she loved 
laces, ribbons, feathers, soft silky materials and flowers. 

One day Martha came to her mother with festoons of 
roses looped about her short skirts, while a wreath of white 
daisies crowned her golden curls, and with shining eyes 
said : “Mother I am the queen of roses, I come to you in 
the name of my people to beg of you to give us a garden all to 
ourselves, where we can have more room to grow, and as we 
live our life and pass away we will drop our beautiful 
leaves and make you a soft, sweet carpet for your pleasure. 
The lillies and hyacinths say we twine about their stems so 
closely that they cannot breathe ; and then the children 
love us most, with our bright colors, and the other flowers 
want the love of the children, so if you will give us a garden 
all to ourselves we will grow so big and beautiful, and make 
such a fairy-land for your small daughter,” and then seeing 
trouble in her dear mother’s face, Martha was aroused from 
her dream, and she ended by saying: “and your Martha 
Frances will be a good little girl and try to tell the truth 
most always." Martha would often say to her practical, 
mystified mother, “Why is it nicer not to tell the truth?” 

Dr. Morgan, hearing that Mrs. Berresford was not well, 
87 


it being the first anniversary after her husband had gone 
away from her, called to encourage and cheer her. Martha 
ran to him in welcome. He took her on his knee and 
thought it a good opportunity to instil in her a lesson in 
truth and the gospel. His first attempt was not encour- 
aging. He said : “Martha, don’t you want to be a very, 
very good little girl, so you will go to Heaven and be happy 
forever?” “No, sir,” said Martha, “I am happy as I want 
to be, when I do not tell the truth ; when I am a good girl, 
I can only say true things. Pauline, my nurse, makes my 
curls too smooth when I am still for her, and I cannot 
see fairy things in my head. But when I am naughty and 
don’t have to talk truth , I am a beautiful fairy with chains 
of pearls and diamonds all over my dress, wandering in 
woods, with trees and flowers, covered with shining leaves, 
and golden fruit, while beautiful blossoms, white and tiny, 
drop from the tops of the trees just like soft snow.” Then 
the good man, seeing the dreamy look in her eyes, quickly 
recalled her, and finding he must get her interest and atten- 
tion before he could hope to make an impression, he said: 
“But Martha, supposing being good and truthful should 
make you beautiful; with pure white shoes on your little 
feet.” He saw her eyes snap, so he thought he would 
enlarge on the vanities of the world; so he continued, “with 
a dress of spotless white, your lovely golden curls tied with 
a creamy ribbon, a wreath of snow flowers on your head 
and in your tiny hands a harp of gold, and you would 
make sweet music and sing, and you would have glistening 
wings and fly through the air like a bird? ” — “ And eat 

worms ? ” interrupted Martha, thoroughly interested and her 
mind associating ideas. The poor Dr. Morgan gasped, then 
fled ignominiously. 

The next day was Sunday, in all its stillness suggest- 
ing worship and thanksgiving to Him “who doeth all 


88 


things well.” Mrs. Berresford sat at her library window, 
listlessly dividing her attention between a book in her 
hand and the magnificent stretch of scenery laid at her 
feet, with the view of the always-moving and restless river 
winding its way about the mountains in the distance, when 
Martha broke in on her thoughts, suddenly entering the 
room through the window. She held her doll in her arms. 
Mrs. Berresford, with a welcoming smile, said: “You have 
been away from me a long time, my little girlie ; where have 
you been ? ’ ’ 

“Well, mother,” said Martha, “you know I took this 
doll baby of mine out on the piazza for a little walk in the 
fresh air, and by the steps, I saw a ladder, all of glass, reach- 
ing so far up into the blue sky I could not see its top. I 
started to climb the ladder. I went up until the houses 
and trees looked like little toys. Then I was higher than 
the birds could fly. I still went up, up until I reached the 
sun. Then I got to heaven. I saw the big gates, all of 
gold, and, mother, one gate was open a little crack. I 
squeezed through, and there I saw God, sitting on His 
great white throne. His crown was of pearls and dia- 
monds and shone like the sun, and our Saviour was sitting 
at His right hand, with His arms full of little children. 
The angels had harps, and were singing so sweetly. 
God saw me standing by the gate, and He smiled, then 
I wasn’t afraid. He shook His finger at me and said: 
‘There, there, little precious girl, run back to your mother; 
I haven’t called you yet.’ So I slipped through the crack 
again and climbed down the ladder, and here I am.” 

Mrs. Berresford, remembering the advice of Dr. Mor- 
gan, said nothing, and quickly left the room to conceal her 
tears and anxiety. Soon came the imperative voice of 
Martha, calling to her nurse, “Pauline, bring me my 
dolly’s white dress at once ; don’t make me speak twice!” 

89 


Mrs. Berresford made use of this expression many times a 
day to Martha to make her quickly obedient — “don’t make 
me speak twice.” She could not resist a smile of amuse- 
ment through her tears. Long after Martha was put in 
her soft bed, and the blue eyes were veiled with heavy lids, 
her mother sat dreaming, thinking and praying, with tears 
of apprehension in her sad eyes. Could Martha’s mind be 
unbalanced, or was she one of the chosen to die young? 
Certainly she was not a normal child. 

The next day Helen Carey came to play with Martha. 
She ran to her mother, her eyes bright with pleasure and 
her arms about her little friend, in a very transport of joy. 
She began to help her mother to remove Helen’s wraps, 
dancing about her guest trying to help, and talking all the 
time. The small tongue seemed to be trying to keep time 
with the skipping feet. Finally, after Helen was comfort- 
ably seated in a small chair, Martha patted her on her 
head and said: “Mother, do you know I was so glad to see 
Htlen come to see me I wanted to slam the door in her 
face.” 

Mrs. Berresford noticed the difference in the children 
in their play. Helen was a practical, matter-of-fact little 
mother, taking things as they came, and being content to 
bring up her family of dolls as she was cared for in her 
own home. But not so with Martha ; she was having her 
doll suddenly stopped in her outing by a beautiful fairy, 
covered with silver spangles, who gave to her a charm to 
touch, when she would never have anything to do but sail 
in boats of pearl, drawn by snowy swans with branches of 
snowballs in their beaks, and a great white eagle soaring 
overhead with wings outspread to shield her from the sun, 
and white doves flying about, fanning her with their flut- 
tering wings ; or, she was dressing her dolls in shining 
robes, with crystal slippers, wearing on their heads white 


90 


hats trimmed with waving plumes that trailed on the 
ground. Helen, with wide eyes and open mouth, was 
stopped many times in her own domestic duties to listen to 
Martha’s charming flights of fancy. 

The years went on and Martha was a girl in her teens. 
Her devoted mother, ever watchful, hovered over her, 
selecting her reading carefully and controlling her friend- 
ships, herself, her daughter’s best loved friend. This beau- 
tiful girl, just budding into womanhood, had still the 
intense imagination of her childhood, ripened and trained 
into some symmetry and roundness. Her physical health 
seemed to pay a penalty to the exquisite and gifted mind, 
and Martha was very frail, seeming to have strength only 
in her imagination. It was the link binding her to earth. 

She commenced to put her thoughts on paper. Time 
passed and she lived in a world all her own, beautiful and 
mystical. She wrote such stories as others could not con- 
ceive. Her stories were all of nature, full of tenderness 
and pathos. She made children of the rain drops ; fairies, 
good and brave, of the snow flakes. Her worlds were 
peopled by birds and all living creatures among the ani- 
mals, and all the flowers of the garden. She made whole 
families of the trees, the branches and leaves being chil- 
dren and grandchildren, costumed in all the gorgeous 
colors of autumn. The most sumptuous banquets were 
given in the forest, where, on a rock for a table, was spread 
a cloth of fresh green moss. Nuts were dishes, leaves 
were plates, knives, forks and spoons were made of shells, 
glistening and white. The wine glasses were lilies of the 
valley, the wine, sweet grape juice. Refreshments of honey 
and fruits of all kinds, ferns and branches of white lilac, 
decorated the centre of the table, while daisies, strung with 
dew drops, were festooned from tree to tree. The many- 
colored singing birds, assisted by the bass voices of buzzing 


91 


bees, furnished the music. The sparrows carried in their 
small beaks forget-me-nots and arbutus, which they would 
let softly drop through the air from time to time. 

The guests were all nature’s people — the flowers of 
the fields, in their brilliant clothing, and all little children 
of fairyland and starland. Then came the queen of the 
fairies in a chariot of diamonds, with wheels gilded with 
glittering frost, which was drawn by hundreds of snow 
white mice, with bridles of dew drops, with a robe of snow 
flakes to protect the queen from the damp air: and the 
pleasures and happiness of these people of nature and of 
the imagination was such that creature man could not 
fathom. 

The stars have blinked good-night to the darkness ; 
the morning light is just beginning to climb the path to 
Berresford ; the curtains are drawn in the mansion ; 
we go to the room of the daughter of the house. On the 
bed lies our Martha, pale and still. At the bedside 
kneels her mother. Suddenly Martha unveils her great 
blue eyes and sits up in bed, whispering, “Oh, mother, I 
am climbing the ladder again. Do you remember it? I 
am so far up I can scarcely see your dear face. The golden 
gates are wide open this time, and the angels seem to be 
expecting me. I can see God with His shining crown, 
and, mother, He is holding out His arms to me.” 


92 


B Uoast to Woman* 


My theme is woman, and with all due humility do I 
take her name upon my lips in a heroic attempt to do the 
subject justice. Did I say justice ? /cannot perform mira- 
cles, and to do such a subject justice is impossible. Woman 
stands before me in blazing letters of fire. 

Woman, God bless her! 

When man was created there was no material left with 
which to make woman . 

The wise muse thought long and slept not until he 
had conceived a plan for modeling this perfect creature, 
beloved of the world — woman! At last the wise muse 
had an inspiration, and thereby lived his most exquisite 
work, warranted to wear, useful, ornamental, strong, pli- 
able, soft to the touch, durable, tenacious, always ready 
for stormy or pleasant weather ; appropriate for dancing 
and merry making or sorrow and death; pure gold, “all 
wool and a yard wide.” The precious receipt ran thus: 

to make; woman. 

Take some of the craftiness of the winding serpent 
and the grace of the antelope ; the softness from the down 
of the breast of a dove, with a pinch of the hardness of 
flint ; a teaspoonful of the slyness of the fox, with a large 
cup of the wisdom of the world ; the chatter of the magpie, 
with the sweet music of a universe of singing birds, and 
the soft rustle of moving leaves ; a generous amount of the 
gentle breeze which fans and cools us for a time, then sud- 
denly, without warning, breaks into a tempestuous cyclone 
which surrounds and carries all things before it. Some of 
the tender coziness of the swallow, with the modest shrink- 


93 


ing of the wild deer and the light touch of a humming 
bird ; a tiny drop of the cruelty of a tiger, with a heaping 
measure of the gentle tenderness of the fawn. Boil all 
together, with talent and tact, faith, hope and charity. 
Then add the magic fragrance of a garden of roses and 
violets, with a dash of April showers and smiles. Sweeten 
to a thick syrup with a heaping measure of love and patience, 
and — a woman is made. 

A sweet, strong woman, with roses in her heart and 
love-light in her face, full of still dreams and thoughts of 
heaven — “a smile of God is woman.” A sweet-toned 
harp, which the slightest touch with careless hand will 
become quivering and discordant, but with gentle, tender 
and loving touch will produce mellow tones, full of sweet- 
ness and harmony, woman is made, lovely woman! 

Ye who believe in affection that hopes and endures 
and is patient ; ye who believe in the beauty, strength 
and symmetry of Washington’s monument, in the home 
of our Government, must feel them to be symbolical of 
woman. She will never fail. She is strong and brave, 
tender and true. She has led armies to battle, then, with 
her gentle hand and sweet sympathy, nursed the sick and 
wounded, rejoiced with him if he lived and prayed with 
him when he had to die. 

For many decades it has been the universal opinion 
that women of gentle birth and nurture, were incapable of 
endurance where evil existed or horrible sights of mangled 
bodies and great suffering. However, experience has 
taught the whole world, that almost in proportion to her 
high plane of living and culture, woman’s usefulness 
increases. The keener the perceptions and the finer the 
intelligence, the greater the refinement, in exact ratio aug- 
ments the firmness of the ministering hand and the more 
undaunted is her courage. 


94 


She, who of old, made a bolt of her white arm in defense 
against her enemies, was no more dauntless and heroic 
than the women who have knelt beside the wounded and 
dying men on the battle field of modern days. There are 
millions of women who, by their unswerving steadfast- 
ness to principles that are good and ennobling, scatter 
light, with moral and physical health radiating from them, 
purifying the very atmosphere they breathe. 

In the last hundred years there is a beautiful chapter 
in feminine history, which is a magnificent and exquisite 
record, demonstrating that women can be eminent in liter- 
ature and the arts, and that thousands of women who do 
not wear the red cross upon their dress, carry it stamped 
upon their hearts in blessed fidelity. It has, indeed, been 
a revelation, to find developed in a frail little woman such 
remarkable nerve power, physical endurance and fortitude, 
in terrible and agonizing situations. In many heroic acts 
achieved by the nurse, her calm promtness in emergencies 
has shown courage equal to the surgeon. 

Since the great Exemplar of human love and brother- 
hood first made us bind up each other’s wounds, there has 
always been a touching and ennobling expression of the 
best that human nature contains, in the work done by women 
who have ministered to pain, want and ignorance. To-day 
there is no spot on the civilized portions of the earth, where 
suffering is not tempered, and life and death made nearer 
divine, because of woman. 

Nearly all the great men of renown, of ancient as well 
as modern times, depended upon the woman by their side, 
who has encouraged, advised, yet warned, and turned them 
from threatening danger by her skilful hand. Oh, woman ! 
queen of man ; queen of the universe ! ! 

Darkness comes over the world of man, and the bright 
silver of the sun-kissed rays are blackened. It is woman 


95 


who raises the veil, and through her eyes, he sees the clouds 
lift. First, he sees just the rim of silver light as the sun 
slips from under the clouds, drawn gently by her hand. 
Then suddenly bursts upon him the fullness of the dazzling 
sunlight of faith and hope in the world and its promises, 
and once more, man walks with a light step, and all is 
peace. 

It is very mannish, to want what he cannot have, and 
the more he cannot have it, the more is his desire, for we 
are taught that in the beginning, man was alone ; he wanted 
a companion, for he was lonely and unhappy. The wise 
muse advised man to be content with “the ills he had rather 
than fly to those he knew not of.” But man, when denied, 
wanted a companion more and more. At last the wise muse 
consented to give to man his perfect and wondrous work — 
woman . A few days passed, when the man ran to the muse 
and cried, with a loud voice, “Oh, great and good muse, 
you gave to me this woman for my happiness and content- 
ment. She seems a wicked sprite one minute, and the next, 
she becomes a pure, sweet angel of sunlight. She keeps 
my brain working so hard, wondering what mood she is 
going to wear, that my poor head is about to burst with 
the wear and tear of her rapid changes ! 

“She is as variable as the month of March, as capri- 
cious as April. She sings and talks so sadly and then 
merrily that my head swims. She enchants and maddens 
me at the same time. I cannot bear the pain of her. Oh, 
great, good muse, take her back, take her back, and let me 
once more be at rest and peace ! ! ” 

The muse, in pity for the suffering of his creature 
man, consented to take her back. Two days later the man 
returned to the muse with pale and haggard face, crying, 
“Oh, good, kind muse, give me back that woman ; I miss 
her singing and chatter; I miss the glorious sunshine of 


96 


her presence whether she is pleasing me or not. Oh, sir, 
woe is me, woe is me. I suffer pain when I have her, and 
I cannot live without her!” 

This example of early days in history, proves that 
woman must be a cultivated taste, in that the modern man 
can possess, with some degree of calmness and enjoyment, 
this wondrous work of art — woman. 

Man, rise up in the full glory of pride, for a woman 
has this secret for you, “You are the mirror of her soul” 

You call me an angel of love and of light, 

A being of goodness and heavenly fire 

Sent out from God’s kingdom to guide you aright 
In paths where your spirit may mount and aspire. 

Now list to my answer, let all the world hear it, 

A pure , faithful man is the creative spirit. 

I live but in you. 

We are bound soul to soul by life’s holiest laws, 

If I am an angel, why — you are the cause. 

Artemus Ward, ended a speech once, in the following 
words : 

“My friends, before you leave I have a few remarks 
to remark about woman. She is the greatest institution of 
which the world can boast. It is impossible to get along 
without her. She is good in sickness, good in wellness, 
and good all the time, by gosh! Women are angels when 
they behave, and men call themselves blessed to fall at their 
feet and worship them ; but when women get their heads 
full of cantankerous nonsense and woman’s rights notions, 
going around like roaring lions, seeking whom they may 
devour somebody, then they do get stubborner than a 
whole stable full of mules, and yet men love them, and 
love them, and love them!” 


97 


Men when dying make their wills, but wives 
Escape a work so sad. 

Why should they make what all their lives 
The gentle dames have had? 

Here’s to the light that lies in woman’s eyes, 

And lies, and lies, and lies; 

And the gladdest of her gladness 
When she’s glad, 

And the saddest of her sadness 
When she’s sad, 

“Isn’t in it ” 

With the baddest of her badness 
When she’s bad. 

And the meekest of her meekness 
When she’s meek, 

And the neatest of her neatness 
When she’s neat. 

But the meekest of her meekness 
And the neatest of her neatness 
“Takes a back seat ” 

With the sweetest of her sweetness 
When she’s sweet. 

********* 

Civilians ! 

Join the fighters of both land and sea, 

Stand up, lift high your glasses and drink with me a toast — 
To woman ! 

Then with a movement quick for all, 

Dash your glasses to the wall. 

For when they’re quaffed in woman’s name, 

They never should be used again. 

Woman ! 

“Your arms, to protect her; 

Her arms, to reward you.” 

Fall in ! ! 


98 


a Christmas Storg. 

Gbe One Xittle (Slrl. 


Emily Josephine Ayers was just seven years old. She 
lived in London. Her home was a large, dull, tall house 
on a large dull square — where all the houses were alike ; 
all the door knockers were alike; the front steps and shutters 
were alike; and the restless, tiny sparrows hopping about, 
were alike. 

The houses were so tall and the streets so narrow, that 
hard as the generous sun tried to force his way in, to give of 
his warmth and brightness, he could only manage to peep 
through some of the windows for a short time, on very 
cloudless days. 

Emily was the only little girl her parents had, among 
four big, strapping boys. And of course the sunny-haired, 
blue-eyed daughter was very precious, and the entire house- 
hold joined forces to pet, love, tease and spoil the small 
sister. They were a very united and happy family, and 
had some glorious times together. 

The winter had been very severe, with much snow, and 
the Ayers children had generously shared whooping cough 
and measles with one another. Emily had taken cold and 
was very ill for some weeks, and when spring knocked 
at the door of winter, Emily was thin and pale. Mr. and 
Mrs. Ayers thought good, fresh country air would be the 
best medicine for their little children. 

Mr. Ayers succeeded in leasing a big house in the 
country, nestled in the very heart of sweet pine woods. 
So the family packed trunks and boxes ; gathered in bas- 
kets their pets — dogs, canary bird and two white rabbits ; 
and the entire household moved into their new home, 
smejli^gg of honeysuckle and madeira vines. 

99 


The days that followed were never long enough. The 
wild flowers grew so luxuriantly, that even though every 
day the children picked flowers until they were tired, there 
seemed to be just as many left. The violets were so thick 
in the front yard that the green grass was entirely hidden 
by the purple leaves. 

The children, with their mother, would have the most 
charming picnics. The fat, old black mammy would pack 
in a big basket, a lunch of fried chicken, bread with jam, 
cake and fruit, and when they would play and romp among 
the trees and get hungry, the table cloth was laid on a 
table of curly moss, while Emily and her mother set the 
table. The boys built a stone oven, where potatoes, corn 
and apples were roasted — and nothing ever tasted so good. 
And after they had finished eating, there was nothing left 
to take home but the dishes and cloth. Then everybody 
would help to clean up and repack the baskets, and with 
so many willing hands and merry voices, soon all was in 
order, and they were ready to start for the creek to fish, and 
sail their boats. 

On they tramped, their happy voices echoing through 
the woods as they chased the squirrels and rabbits scur- 
rying across their path, until all out of breath, they came 
to the brook, which was dashing itself against the stones, 
leaping and falling from rock to rock down the ravine. 
Here Mr. Ayers met the little party to enjoy with them, 
the fishing. 

The entire family were given poles, and even Mrs. 
Ayers and Emily were permitted to enter the charmed 
circle, and had to be told many times that they must be 
very quiet and not talk. The wee girlie found the task a 
very difficult one, to choke back the chatter that crowded 
to her lips. 

The boys thought it very funny when Emily felt a 


100 


nibble. Her line gave a wiggle, then dipped a little deeper 
into the water. Up jumped Emily, dancing up and down, 
screaming with excitement and delight, and down went 
her pole, line and nibble out of sight, into the water, for 
the little girl had promptly let loose of her pole, as soon as 
she thought she had caught a fish. The boys insisted that 
she had frightened the poor fish so badly that they would 
swim to the ocean, in their eagerness to get away from such 
noise. 

When tired of the water, they sat under the willow 
trees, which waved their long arms in greeting to the chil- 
dren ; some of the branches reaching to the ground. Then 
mother would tell stories, and father, stretch himself on the 
soft grass, and with closed eyes and a smoking cigar 
between his teeth, looked the picture of contented bliss. 
And the children made chains of daisies and violets and 
festooned them about Emily ; crowning with wild roses the 
little queen sister. Then the happy day would sink into the 
arms of evening, and the sun would hold his big red lantern; 
and they would start for home, with Emily perched on her 
father’s shoulders, looking like a crowned queen surrounded 
by her loyal subjects. 

Winter came and the flowers said good-bye, and the 
great, soft snow flakes covered the ground with a beautiful, 
warm, white blanket. And old Mother Goose proved she 
was picking her geese for the mysterious, joyous day that 
was coming, when she heard the Brownies whispering to 
one another about Santa Claus. 

The children cut pine boughs from the forest, and 
gathered holly and mistletoe, and trimmed, with lavish 
hands, the whole house. 

Christmas Eve had arrived, and the great log of 
wood in the old fashioned fire-place cracked and splut- 
tered in memory of the blessing that came to the world. 


101 


Every now and then the fire would seem to smoulder and 
sleep, then would come a bang, and hundreds of bright, 
dazzling sparks, would be drawn into the chimney, to show 
the jolly Santa Claus where he could get into the house ; 
where the sweet odor of the pine and the shining holly 
berry dressed in his scarlet coat, were in readiness to wel- 
come the merry child-lover. 

After the children had hung their stockings about the 
big chimney place, little Emily climbed into her mother’s 
lap and whispered, “Oh, mamma; I am so happy and 
everything is so beautiful for me ; and today I saw the 
children of our farmer, and they said ‘Santa Claus was too 
poor to come to them.’ Can’t we have them here? And 
we will divide our things with them, and we will write 
Santa Claus a little note and tell him why they are here.” 
Mrs. Ayers kissed the dear face and held her still closer, 
saying “I am so glad that my little daughter, in her happi- 
ness, thinks to make others happy too ; and we will send 
for all the farmers children, and let them hang their 
stockings by our chimney.” 

The big sleigh was gotten out, and with four strong 
horses, with chains of bells about their necks, and the 
Ayers children, with father to drive, started on their Christ- 
mas errand — to help others to be happy. Merrily they 
skimmed over the glistening, white snow, from farm house 
to farmhouse, until the big sleigh looked like the shoe 
of the little old woman that Mother Goose tells us about, 
“who had so many children she didn’t know what to do.” 
There were radiant faces and hearts full of happiness, 
packed into the sleigh, and for some time before the sleigh 
could be seen, Mrs. Ayers could hear the merry bells 
mingling with glad voices and shouts of children’s laughter 
— the sweetest of music. 

At last the horses drew up to the big gate, and the 


102 


children trooped into the house, where they stood spell- 
bound, feeling they were in fairyland. After each child 
had hung its stockings, they all sat on the floor before the 
glowing fire, at the feet of Mrs. Ayers, while she told them 
of the “singing star,” that sang a story of a lovely babe who 
had come on earth to save the world. A babe so beautiful, 
that a bright light shone all about the child, with its angel 
face, and they called the babe Jesus. And the babe grew 
to manhood, taking into His arms, and blessing little chil- 
dren, and teaching the whole world how to be good and to 
love one another. Then kissing each child good-night, 
Mrs. Ayers took them to the nursery, where she tucked 
them into warm little white cots, telling them to shut their 
eyes and quickly go to sleep, so Santa Claus could come, 
and drive his reindeer over the house top and hitch them to 
the lightening rod. 

When the sun said “Merry Christmas” to the world, 
he found all the children under the Ayers roof, had gotten 
up before he was awake. After the dressing was finished, 
the children formed into a line, the small children leading, 
and they commenced the glad march to the drawing room. 
Each child ran breathlessly to his own stocking, and for 
some time there was so much excitement, as each one found 
a new treasure left by Santa Claus, that Mr. and Mrs. 
Ayers could not hear one another speak. 

Then Mr. Ayers drew aside a great hanging sheet, 
and what do you think was there ? — a hu%e Christmas tree, 
hung with hundreds of lighted candles, glass, tinsel and 
spangles ; with stockings of colored tarleton , and gilt and 
silver paper bags full of candy, nuts and fruit ; and strings 
of cranberries, popcorn and oranges festooned about the 
branches. And there was every kind of toy you can think 
of to make children happy; beautiful dolls, opening and 
shutting blue eyes, for girls, and sleds, skates, bats and 
balls for boys, with books and games for all. 


103 


Then came a big dinner, with a fat turkey and 
blazing plum pudding. After dinner, they took out the 
new sleds and coasted down the hillside, and skated on the 
frozen stream. 

And when the great white moon smiled over the top 
of the trees, the big sleigh was again filled with its precious 
load, and they all were taken back to their homes, with 
full hands, full hearts, and little stomachs full too, and all 
tired, very tired ; but oh, so happy because of the Christmas 
thought. Make others happy and you will be happy. 


104 


Ube Strike at Clear Mater. 


The town of Clear Water, in Ohio, is situated in a 
valley, on the Ohio river. A large cotton factory, with an 
enrollment of 5,000 names, comprises the industry of the 
town, and like most factory towns, there is little business 
activity in any other enterprise. The only other business 
which seemed to thrive was the “schooner” business. 

There are five or six little streets romantically named — 
Hiawatha avenue, Honeysuckle grove, Thistle street, Myrtle 
avenue and Magnolia Terrace. The owner and manager 
of the factory called his home, a mile and a half from the 
town, “Solitude.” The town is supplied with board 
walks and all the houses are frame, of one and two stories; 
they each have good sized yards, with quaint, wooden 
fences, some with gates, and others with stiles. There is 
one picturesque little church, with belfry, and a school 
house. 

The principal dissipation among the villagers being 
church going and the arrival of the morning and evening 
boats. 

A church entertainment caused the greatest flutter of 
excitement. Two days before the event, the girls would 
wear their hair done up in dozens of little pig tails; and 
the women with their hair pins and papers, would look like 
porcupines lost in a cotton patch, the principal care in 
their toilets all being given to the hair. A stranger could 
readily tell the importance of the function, by the frizziness 
of the head. And the men were not to be outdone, for with 
their shining faces, plastered locks, squeaking boots, button 
hole boquets and perfumery, they felt they were worthy 
associates for the magnificent coiffures. 


105 


Mr. Harvey Mortimer was the owner and manager of 
the plant, and lived with his family entirely separate from 
the town; in it, but not of it. His secret for holding his 
men, being to encourage them to own their homes, many 
times advancing to them a substantial loan. Mrs. Morti- 
mer was the Lady Bountiful, and was looked up to by the 
villagers with great respect and veneration. She had her 
hands and heart full many times, when illness and distress 
would come to the town. 

About once in fifteen years, the melting snows, together 
with much rain, would swell and overflow the small streams, 
and cause such a rise in the river, that the water would 
flood the banks, and many homes would be inundated and 
lives with property be lost. Some of the more fortunate, 
living on higher ground, for weeks at a time, would go 
from house to house on rude rafts or small row boats, 
for the time being, resembling a small, every day Venice, 
without the wondrous beauty of the scenery, and its 
tender romance. 

All went well for many years in this quiet little town, 
when among the factory people, there began to be a gentle 
murmur of complaint, waxing louder and louder, until Mr. 
Mortimer was appalled at the serious character of the dis- 
turbance. 

There had been among the people, for some days, a 
couple of “walking delegates,” so-called friends of the 
working man, suggesting abuses and urging them to im- 
prove their condition and insist upon more rights. 

The men wanted the same pay for a shorter day, and 
“three for one” for over time. The demand was promptly 
refused, and no compromise would be considered. 

On a dark, rainy Friday morning in May, Mr. Mortimer 
was to give his final decision to the men. The wives and 
mothers begged that there be no strike, whatever the deci- 


106 


sion, for the brunt of the suffering in consequence of strikes, 
always must fall on the women and helpless little children. 
Mr. Mortimer met the committee with kind and gentle 
courtesy, explaining to them his position, quoting what 
other factories were paying for the same labor, insisting 
that he would control his own affairs, without interference 
from outsiders or the men in his employ, urging upon them 
not to be led in such a serious matter without long and 
careful thought. Their demands were kindly and firmly, 
but decidedly, refused. 

In a couple of hours the great machinery moved, but 
without the cooperation of man. The walking delegates 
had ordered a “strike.” There were a few faithful men, 
but the great works could not be kept running for a few, 
so, as is always the case, the innocent had to suffer with 
the guilty, and by noon the immense plant was empty of 
its human occupants. The great engine gave a few groans 
and gasps and all was still, and a notice was nailed on the 
big iron gates notifying the public that when enough men 
applied for work to run the factory, the gates would open. 

There never was a blacker Friday morning ; the sun 
had gone in, as though he would never show his bright 
face again to mortal man. The men formed in line in front 
of the factory, and with much gusto and bravado marched 
through the streets, singing and whistling lively and popu- 
lar airs. Then as though the clouds could foretell the 
result of this mutiny — a long, low moan was heard, as 
though many hearts were breaking ; then a flood of tears 
poured. The water gates seemed to have suddenly opened 
and for half an hour the rain flowed in sheets ; the thun- 
der moaned and groaned, and the trees bent back and 
forth, as though they were in an agony of suffering. For 
thirty minutes, not only the hearts of men were sore and 
troubled, but all nature was in sympathy. 


107 


Then the sun burst out from the clouds, and nature, 
as ever so fickle and capricious, assumed her most holiday 
attire. The “walking delegates,” the prime movers and 
instigators of the strike, appreciated that the ball should 
open with the proper spirit, so a band of music was em- 
ployed to play gay, bright music all afternoon on the 
Athletic Grounds. 

The men donned their best clothes, and with their 
wives and children joined others of their friends, and began 
their enjoyment of the present leisure, as long as the clothes, 
food and warm weather should last. 

Everything seemed to swim along until the money gave 
out, first in one home, then in another, until all were in 
want. Then came the cry that something must be done to 
sustain the men with hungry families. 

Relief corps were organized ; supplies and money were 
advertised for and sent to them, by other labor organizations 
and sympathizers, but the demand exceeded the supply. 
Little children cried for food, mothers grew thin and anxious. 

The men did what they could to relieve the sufferings 
of those depending on them. They became discouraged, 
and tried to drown their anxieties and misery by drink. 
Their idleness, together with drink and the insinuating 
speeches of these ever present “walking delegates,” encour- 
aged acts of violence and revenge. They hated all capital 
and corporations, casting upon them the blame for their 
condition. 

All was chaos and confusion in the once sleepy little 
town, and misery reigned supreme. Mrs. Mortimer tried 
to aid some, whom she had known in their happier days, 
but her help was necessarily limited, and did not go far 
towards alleviating their sufferings. 

Hattie Blake, had been a very deserving and hard- 
working woman, and for two years had taken care of the 


108 


kindergarten rooms ; and because of her worthiness, sick 
husband and poverty, with many children, she had been 
kindly and generously treated by the more well-to-do of the 
people. She had been grateful and faithful, and her hus- 
band had worked when he was able. 

One day before the strike, Mrs. Mortimer met Hattie 
on the street and asked for her husband. She answered : 
“Oh mam, Blake is that poorly, you know, mam, Blake’s 
complaint is fits. He has three or four fits a day, mam.” 
To such a surprising number of these horrible fits, Mrs. 
Mortimer exclaimed : “Poor man, poor man,” when Hat- 
tie, encouraged by the evident sympathy, joined her, “and 
you may well say too bad , mam. It takes him every bit of 
ten minutes to a fit, mam, to be able to get to his work 
again, and that loses for him nearly one hour and more a 
day, and when it’s piecework, mam, as it is with Blake, that 
loss means something. When people are poor and have 
ten children, mam, it means something .” 

Poor Blake! Poor Hattie! Poor ten children. To the 
surprise of every one, Hattie and Blake went into the strike, 
heart and soul. 

The strike was a sad day for Blake’s complaint, for 
the excitement, with too much time at his disposal to arrange 
profitably, Blake’s attacks became more frequent. Then 
the old adage was fulfilled, that “Troubles never come 
singly.” One of the children was taken with measles, 
another with whooping cough. This meant a wholesale 
distribution of both diseases to each of the ten children, 
individually and collectively. At the end of six dreadful 
weeks, poor Hattie was a total wreck; morally, mentally 
and physically. Her troubles and sufferings she blamed 
on the rich people of the whole world. 

It is not surprising that the constitutions of two of the 
children, could not withstand whooping cough and measles, 


109 


together with the inheritance of Blake’s complaint, with 
starvation ; and in divine love, they were taken away and 
were laid to rest. Hattie was very noisy and uncontrolable 
in her grief, if she had an audience. Her most heart 
rending efforts were given for the benefit of Mrs. Mortimer 
and a Mrs. Swartz, the latter, a large hearted German 
woman, who was called by the townspeople “The mother 
of the poor,” because of her many acts of benevolence and 
charity. One day, after the death of the children, Mrs. 
Swartz went to see Hattie. As Mrs. Swartz entered the 
room, Hattie immediately began to sway back and forth, 
moaning and wringing her hands for her lost children, 
when Mrs. Swartz stamped her foot and said in her broken 
dialect, “Woman, don’t you shame yourself, crying and 
acting up, for those poor little starved children, whom the 
good Lord took to Himself, in His goodness and mercy? 
Get on your knees this minute, woman, and tank God for 
taking to His care your little pain stricken creatures. Why 
you can’t take care of those He has left you, for they are 
all dirty and hungry.” 

Hattie sat up, dazed by such earnestness and plain 
spoken truths, and with a relieved expression, said “That 
is all the truth, what you’re speaking, mam. I never 
thought of it that way.” 

Those poor, deluded men would march through the 
streets crying, until they were black and blue in the face, 
“Liberty to the working man ;” and in the same breath, 
would say to their neighbor, “If you dare to go to work, 
I will brain you,” utterly forgetting their noble sentiment 
of the moment before, of “Liberty to the working man.” 

There were many men of the town, who would gladly 
have gone to work again — perfectly satisfied with the old 
terms — but they did not dare. 

Humanitarians, and the lovers of charity, had a wide 


110 


field for usefulness in the weeks that followed the strike. 
There was much done, to enlist the sympathy of people 
who did not live near enough to Clear Water to know the 
real truth of the matter. 

For instance, a notice was printed in one of the daily 
papers, to the effect that a “Jim Connors, with his large 
family, was starving in Clear Water. As he had 
always been a hard working and sober man, and was an 
old soldier, serving with courage and honor during the 
Civil War, and was badly wounded while in the discharge 
of his duty, some of the ‘war societies’ should send money 
for his support. ’ ’ A committee from a “war society’ ’ arrived 
in the town to sift the matter to the bottom, and found 
that Jim Connors had served for one month, as horseshoer, 
when a horse stepped on his toe, and he had asked for a 
discharge, as he was afraid to desert. And yet there were 
many of the deserving, who suffered untold agony during 
this reign of terror. 

One evening in September — just as the sun , dressed in 
his cavalry uniform of yellow had stepped before the world 
for dress parade — a notice was placed on the big iron gates 
and the old one removed. The new notice read, “The 
spooling department, will open its doors at seven o’clock 
on Monday morning. Applicants for work must report 
promptly, as after eight o’clock the roll will be closed for 
the day.” In this department, only fifteen year old girls 
were employed. 

Promptly, on the morning named, ten little girls 
started for work, because they and those dependent on 
them, were in want. When they were within a block of the 
big gates, a howling mob of men, women and children 
rushed upon them. Women in the front ranks, with sticks 
and stones in their hands, and Hattie Blake as their leader, 
brandishing a huge club. The men followed in the rear, 
urging the women to violence. And saddest of all sad 

111 


sights, little girls and boys, just out of babyhood, were 
pushing and crowding their way to the front, thirsty to do 
their small worst. 

Hattie ran eagerly towards a poor, pale, hungry girl 
and caught her by the hair, with her long, bony hands, 
and commenced beating her and tearing her clothing. 
Other women followed her example, and for a few seconds, 
with the screams of rage from the mob, and the terror of 
girls, with the low howling of the men, it was a pandemo- 
nium. Had it not been for the timely arrival of a squad 
of police, with rumors of the coming militia, there would 
have been a stain on the women of Clear Water that could 
never have been erased. 

The plucky little girls were not to be intimidated, and 
each morning were ready to proceed to work, with police- 
men for their protection. These brave little girls, broke the 
backbone of the Clear Water strike. The following week, 
the great engine began to pant, and the machinery started, 
then the whistle blew — sweetest music on earth to many of 
these weary, tempest -tossed souls. 

Encouraged, by the splendid example of the little girls, 
some of the more courageous of the men applied for 
work. There were many threats and serious acts of 
violence, during the next four weeks ; all kept in check 
and under control, by the presence of the police and militia. 
During the entire strike, the magnificent courage and 
dignity of Mr. Mortimer, was a shining example of justice, 
sympathy and bravery, as he went about, unarmed, among 
the angry, furious mob, who hated him and blamed him 
for everything. And because of the fearless integrity of 
this good man, the men demons were afraid to attack him, 
although many times, he might have been in their power. 

Mrs. Mortimer’s heart was sore, in her sympathy for 
the poor wives and little, helpless children. Tragedy and 
comedy, as is often the case, went hand in hand about the 


112 


town. One woman, plead with Mrs. Mortimer, to use her 
influence with “the boss” to get her “man” back to work ; 
that her baby had been ill for weeks, and was now dying, 
for want of warmth and food. She fell on her knees and 
stretched out her hands, crying, “Oh, madam, I am beg- 
ging for the life of my baby, not my man. He did wrong 
to strike, but he is sorry now.” In vain did Mrs. Morti- 
mer explain, that the rolls were full ; that her “man” should 
have gone to work sooner; that if Mr. Mortimer should 
take him to work now, he would have to discharge another 
man, probably just as needy and deserving. If he were the 
only one, it would be different, but there were hundreds 
just like him — who had timidly waited too long ; every 
position was more than filled. 

Mrs. Mortimer went to the woman’s home, and found 
things in a pitiable condition. She did what she could, to 
alleviate their sufferings, and advised the humbled man, to 
waste no more time in waiting for an opening in Clear 
Water, but to go elsewhere at once , and find work, when 
the woman raised the dying child over her head and cried: 
“And I swear if he ever takes part in another strike I will 
kill my children and myself, so we will have to die only 
once ; we have died every day for six weeks!” 

Then came a woman who wanted to assure Mrs. Mor- 
timer that her “man” was not on the “black board” 
(meaning “black list”); some one had just been having a 
“big mouth” about him ; “he was a good religion man ;” 
some one had just been trying “to do him” by their “big 
mouth.” Mrs. Mortimer had to guess what it meant to be 
done by a big mouth. 

It was surprising how soon order and law took the place 
of chaos and license. Now the sweet sound of the buzzing 
machinery brings happy expressions to the angry, sullen 
faces. Mr. Mortimer is once more the beloved and trusted 
friend of his people, and Clear Water is Peaceful Valley. 

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